A Perfect World
by Olive Hue
Summary: Sarcastic country girl meets brilliant southern charmer in an adaptation of the Sherlock Holmes canon set in present-day San Francisco. Update: Complete
1. Mr Impossible

A/N: YOYOYOYO!! What have all my fellow Baker Street Irregulars been up to? It's so, so, SO great to be writing another Sherlock Holmes story-- I was having withdrawals. I really was. And not only because it was so fun and satisfying and everything. It was also because of YOU GUYS! *hugs you all* I personally didn't feel that my last SH fanfic(Hinc Illae Lacrimae) was that great; it was funny, I guess. Good for a laugh. But you all made me feel so appreciated! It was the best feeling, and I thank you.  
  
But wait. Before I start my story, I have to say something. Did any of you happen to see that made-for-TV movie on USA called 'Case of Evil'? Okay, was that not the most horrible Sherlock Holmes movie EVER MADE? I'm not sure how I found the patience to watch the whole thing; maybe to prove to myself that I wasn't biased when it came to anything Sherlockian. But either I am, or that movie made every Baker Street Irregular in the world want to murder whoever made its TV airing possible. From Watson being a CORONER(can you believe it!?) to Mycroft being crippled for life - and not fat - the whole thing just screamed "We didn't read the Canon". But Holmes was the worst of it. There were times while watching it when my eyes actually started tearing up. An amazing feat indeed it must be to turn the most brilliant mind devised in fiction into an alcoholic womanizer, but USA managed to pull it off. Is anyone else here as enraged as I am?  
  
Ugh. Anyway, I didn't mean to turn my author's note into such a downer. I'm sorry. To make it up to you... Drum roll, please... HERE'S MY LATEST STORYYYY, YAAAAYY!!!!!  
  
  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter One: Mr. Impossible  
  
  
  
  
  
I'm sure if I had known what I would be required to do to pay for my classes, I would never have gone to massage therapy school.  
  
All right, so working at a coffee shop wasn't that bad. Or at least, it wouldn't have been if I lived anywhere but San Francisco. But alas, there I was, and as luck would have it, I had been hired at the snobbiest coffee shop this side of Fisherman's Wharf. I didn't know it at the time, but this unfortunate predicament I had landed myself in would introduce me to the beginning of the most unusual friendship I would ever have.  
  
Of course, on my first day working at the Boule des Nerfs, the only thing I was focused on was not spilling a cafe latte all over the front of my shirt.  
  
"Nadia, hey!" One of my co-workers, whose name I only knew from the little tag on her blouse, was waving at me frantically from over at the espresso machine. I quickly handed the latte I was holding to the frazzled, middle-aged woman who had ordered it, and wove my way through the tables to the back counter.  
  
"Yeah, what's up?" I asked, brushing the wrinkles out of my skirt.  
  
Jenni (with an 'I') pointed to a customer sitting at a window table in the corner. "Table Six needs his order taken, and all the other girls are busy." For some reason, she was grinning deviously.  
  
"Okaaay, no problem," I replied, my eyes following her finger to where she was gesturing. "Holy cow, who's that tall drink of water?"  
  
A young man perhaps a year or two older than me was sitting slouched at the corner table, deep in a copy of the morning's newspaper. I instantly snapped to attention. My eyes took in his polished black loafers first, then traveled up his long legs to the elegant cut of his dark grey suit, his snow-white shirt front and its open collar, his pale, patrician features, his bright emerald eyes, and finally his shaggy, raven's-wing hair. Even though he was sitting down, I could tell he was tall; almost intimidatingly so, if he had not been so gaunt.  
  
Ee-yikes.  
  
Jenni smirked as she took in my thunderstruck expression. "I figured, since it's your first day here, I would give you the privilege of waiting on Mr. Impossible."  
  
"Mr. Impossible?" I repeated, frowning. "As in, 'impossibly hot', is that what you mean? In which case, I would agree with you."  
  
"No, no, no, that's not the reason." Jenni shook her head, her ponytail smacking her in the face. "We like to call him that because he is, without a doubt, the most impolite, condescending, unbearable customer we've ever had. It's like nothing you do is good enough for him. Sure, he's nice to look at, but once he opens that irritating mouth of his, forget about it."  
  
I laughed. "He's really that bad, is he? Well then," I said as I straightened my apron in preparation for battle, "I relish the challenge."  
  
"Good luck, Nadia," she replied, shrugging as she went back to her espresso machine. And so it was, on my first day at work, that I went off looking for trouble. And found it.  
  
Whipping out my pencil and notepad, I strode boldly to the table in the corner and smiled amiably. "Hello, sir! Beautiful day, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"Mmm, quite," the man drawled in a sophisticated southern accent that would have been simply *delicious* if it weren't so pretentious. Folding the newspaper carefully in his lap, he looked up at me, sizing me up. "I don't believe I've seen you here before. You must be a new recruit... Nadia," he said, squinting at my nametag. I noticed somewhat absently that, unlike most men, when he spoke, his upper teeth showed more than his lower ones. Kind of like Guy Pearce, only without the horse face.  
  
I nodded, the practiced smile never leaving my face. "You're very observant, sir. This is my first day here at the Boule des Nerfs."  
  
A black eyebrow raised. "At the very least, you are a bit more presentable than the other waitresses." My eye began to twitch, but I oh-so-smoothly disguised it by pretending to remove a stray lash. "All right, shall we get this over with? I will have a grande blackberry mocha. No whipped cream, no chocolate shavings, only a light dusting of cinnamon. Did you get that?"  
  
"Every word, sir," I said, trying not to laugh. This guy was unbelievable. "Your cinnamon-adorned mocha will be ready shortly."  
  
I turned to leave, but he stopped me with a thin white hand on my arm and the words "One more thing." I twisted around to look at him, and the corner of his mouth raised slightly. "I was just curious, miss. How are you adjusting to life in the city, after being raised in western Washington?"  
  
My jaw dropped, and I stumbled a little before regaining my balance. "H-how did you know that?" I managed to stutter.  
  
This time the man brought the force of a full smile on me, taking me unwillingly by surprise. "It was really quite simple. You see the way you stand? Your posture is more erect than someone who has been weighed down with various problems for some time, which indicates you haven't lived in the fair city of San Francisco for long." He smirked in amusement. "Your hands also give you away. They are undoubtedly the hands of a young woman who spent her childhood on a farm. And not least of all, I noticed the words 'Olympia High School' on the pen in your hand. Another determining factor."  
  
I felt like hitting myself in the head. Of course! Idiot! Any dope with more than one brain cell could see, if his eye was trained to look for the signs, that I was clearly not from around here. *Maybe I should make more of an effort to blend in,* I thought to myself, unconsciously drooping my shoulders a little.  
  
The man's deceptively innocent smile at the end of his discourse was what clenched it. "Who are you?" I exclaimed, not bothering to conceal my irritation.  
  
"Forgive me if I startled you," he said, though the mind-reading weirdo was clearly pleased by my reaction. He offered me his hand, which I took. "Ethan Rhodes. And do you have a last name, or is it simply 'Hello my name is Nadia'?"  
  
Ooh, isn't he a clever one? "It's Nadia Bridges. Nice to meet you." Sort of.  
  
"Rhodes and Bridges, eh?" he mused. "It seems that fate, and not coffee, might have been the cause of our little meeting. Well, I must be keeping you from your work. Off you go, Ms. Bridges."  
  
Smiling dryly at him one last time for lack of anything else to do, I turned and headed over to the back counter. I sank onto the nearest bar stool, my chin propped up on my hand. Jenni looked at me dubiously. "Sooo, how was it? Did Mr. Impossible bite your head off?"  
  
With a roll of my eyes, I shook my head. "Unless 'bite my head off' means the same as 'try to impress me', then no, I'm afraid he didn't."  
  
"Say what?" She blinked, confused. "So he wasn't all rude and patronizing?"  
  
"Well, sort of, I guess," I replied, shrugging. "At first, anyway. But then we got to talking about where I grew up--" not a total lie, "--and he evidently decided it'd be funner to dazzle me with his brains than to insult me." I smirked. "Ethan Rhodes. What a loser."  
  
"Ethan Rhodes," she repeated. "Cool name... The only thing cool about him, I guess. Well," she corrected herself, casting a glance at the customer, "that and those big green eyes."  
  
I nodded. "But that's it. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go make His Majesty's whipped cream-free, chocolate shavings-free, cinnamon-dusted blackberry mocha."  
  
  
  
  
Hanging up my apron, I glanced at the darkening sky outside the coffee shop windows. It was late September, which in San Francisco meant that it looked like early December. I smiled in spite of my hectic day as the first drops drizzled lazily down the glass panes; I didn't mind the rain, and sometimes even enjoyed walking through it. Especially on my way home to change into my flannel pants and study for my massage class.  
  
"Christine?" I poked my manager lightly on the shoulder. "I'm going to take off now. My class starts in four days, and I want to get all my studying done."  
  
She nodded absently. "Go, study. Oh, and Nadia," she called as I shrugged my coat on, "thanks for dealing with that snobby guy from the Ozarks or whatever today. He was less of a pain than usual."  
  
"No problem," I replied, laughing as I pushed the door open. The early autumn air wrapped me in a chilly cocoon as I stepped out onto the street. It was almost six o'clock, but I could still hear merchants down at the Wharf shouting to each other. And of course, as with any given time of day, the smell of fresh and not-so-fresh fish drifted to my nostrils. Hopefully the light rain would make the air smell a little cleaner, but I seriously doubted it.  
  
As I continued to walk, the rain began to pour more heavily, and I wondered if I should just wait for the streetcar. Seeing as how the sheltered waiting area less than two blocks away was calling to me, I decided to be patient for once and allow the streetcar to come at its leisure. But it would seem, as I was making my way toward the shelter, that I was destined never to have peace again.  
  
"Ms. Bridges! Goodness, what an unexpected surprise!"  
  
I turned at the mellifluous southern voice to see Mr. Impossible himself striding toward me at a brisk pace, a silk umbrella in his hand. The raven-haired young man was wearing a light grey overcoat, and an expensive-looking black scarf was wrapped tightly about his throat. *This guy must come from money,* I thought wryly as he caught up with me.  
  
"Well," I said, no longer pretending to like him as I resumed my journey to the streetcar shelter, "fancy meeting you here, Mr. Rhodes. If I wasn't so sure you had something better to do, I'd swear you were stalking me."  
  
Ignoring my biting sarcasm, Ethan Rhodes matched my pace and twirled his umbrella lightheartedly. "Oh, no, of course not. I was simply in the neighborhood visiting a client and saw you walking home from your place of employment. I myself enjoy a nice stroll in the rain, but without an umbrella it can be ruinous to one's health. We can share mine if you wish."  
  
I looked at him skeptically, then shrugged my consent. It was wet, after all.  
  
Moving a little closer, Rhodes held the umbrella over both of us and started up his monotonous banter again. "By the way, I must compliment you on the quality of the coffee you make. Really most excellent. From now on, I insist that you take all my orders in the future. Of course, I will understand if you are ill, or--"  
  
"All right, enough," I interrupted angrily. I stopped abruptly in my tracks, which caused him to stumble slightly. "I'll admit, I was a little impressed back at the coffee shop when you told me all that crap about me being a country girl. But frankly, this is getting annoying, Mr. Rhodes. What do you want from me?"  
  
The emerald eyes blinked once or twice, momentarily confused. "I apologize, Ms. Bridges, if I offended you. I merely thought--"  
  
"Oh, you merely thought, did you?" I was so mad I wasn't even making sense. At least to me, anyway. "Look, Rhodes, maybe if I was in a better mood, I'd be flattered, but I'm really not interested in a rich, arrogant little brat, so just leave me alone before I take out a restraining order on you." And I continued walking.  
  
To my surprise, Rhodes let out a loud bark of laughter. I turned around quickly and glared at him. "And what exactly do you find so hilarious?" I demanded.  
  
"Forgive me, that must have seemed rude," he said, recovering from his laughing fit. "It's just, I didn't realize that you were attracted to me."  
  
My jaw dropped. I can honestly say that I didn't move or speak for at least fifteen seconds. Finally I managed to sputter, "You think I'm attracted to *you*!? You, the most infuriating man I've ever met!? You're crazy!"  
  
"Of course you would deny it," said Rhodes with a smug smile. "I must admit, Ms. Bridges, I'm surprised at you. We've only known each other for a day, and already you're making advances toward me. You're a bold one, I'll give you that."  
  
"Oh my God!!" I shouted, throwing my hands in the air. I knew I was creating a scene, and I didn't care. "Are you out of your gourd!? There is no way in Heaven or on earth that I would ever be attracted to you, you delusional psychopath! Now for the love of God, leave me alone!"  
  
By now, I had reached the shelter, but I just kept on walking. There was no way I was going to wait there, right in front of that nutcase. For all I knew, he could shave cats as a hobby. My heels clicked loudly on the wet sidewalk, but that didn't keep me from hearing the splash of shoes on puddles behind me.  
  
"Ms. Bridges!"  
  
"Go away," I said through clenched teeth.  
  
Rhodes caught up with me again, slightly out of breath. "All right, all right. I'm being obnoxious, I realize that. I only wanted to get to know you better. You're a bright girl, I can tell. I apologize for coming on too strong. My actions must have appeared a little... manic, shall we say?"  
  
I turned and stared up at him as I walked. He looked sincere. Of course, there was no way to tell, but for some reason I decided to throw away my instincts that screamed *RUN* and sighed exaggeratedly.  
  
"'Manic' would be an understatement," I said wearily as he grinned. "Okay, Rhodes, you've managed to gain my temporary trust. You've got moxy, kid. But if you turn out to have a collection of seagull feet, or cut my hair while I sleep, you're going to be drinking blackberry mochas with your jaw wired shut."  
  
"Come now, Bridges, you're just being irrational now," he said good-naturedly, holding his umbrella over me again as we walked down the rainy street. "But I have a feeling about you. You've got quite the wicked tongue. With a little polishing, you'd make a superb aristocrat. If you like caviar, that is."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I know what you're thinking. "Wow, another modern Sherlock Holmes story. How original." In my defense, I'll just say that I already had the idea before I went on Fanfiction.net and found about six million others that had already been written. In fact, I got the idea four years ago, when my English teacher (the best teacher I've ever had) made a passing remark about how he sort of wanted to give the class an assignment that was something along the lines of "re-writing your favorite story with new characters and a different spin on the plot." He never did, the retard - just kidding, he's great - but the idea was planted in my head and impossible to get out after that. And of course I had decided to write a modern version of a Sherlock Holmes story. Come on, what else is worth the effort? But by the time I got around to starting it, which was right now, I discovered that it was far from an original idea. Still, I hope I can keep it fresh and entertaining enough for you all to continue reading it. Your approval means a lot to me.  
  
But yes, in case you're wondering, Ethan Rhodes and Sherlock Holmes DO share quite a few differences. They're both intelligent and charming(when they want to be), but Rhodes is a little bolder than Holmes. Certainly more maddening. He's also not English. *readers: WHAAAT!?!* That's right, I'm doing things a little differently. But at any rate, I hope you like my incorrigible southern gentleman! Review and tell me what you think!  
  
-Wakizashi (back in black... not really) 


	2. An Enigma

A/N: So, back for more punishment, eh? There, there. I'll try not to disappoint you. I have to say, I feel almost giddy to be writing another Sherlock Holmes fic again. And it's mostly because you all make me feel so at home in this here section of FF.net. Every new review I get welcoming me back makes me giggle like an idiot! Before I start, some answers to your reviews. Kenta Divina, snowwolf, HowAreYouToday, and Kerowyn: Thank you, it's good to BE back! QDramaStr: Hey, your name is Megan? So's mine! *high-fives you* Silent Beatnik: I was also waiting for someone to make a version of Holmes that wasn't British, but seeing as how everyone just loves a guy with an English accent, I decided to do it myself! And Anneliese: Be glad that you didn't watch "Case of Evil". Sure, the guy who played Holmes was hot, but that doesn't make up for the overall suckiness. All righty, let's get the next chapter going!  
  
Disclaimer: Even though all the characters in my story are basically mine, (*towers over them and laughs maniacally*) the whole idea of the brilliant detective and his faithful sidekick deservedly goes to Arthur Conan Doyle: the ORIGINAL mystery writer.  
  
  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Two: An Enigma  
  
  
  
  
  
"What about that guy?"  
  
Ethan Rhodes chewed on his lower lip in concentration. "Well, clearly he has just married," he replied in his biscuits-and-buttermilk accent. "He and his girlfriend eloped either in Las Vegas or Reno. It's difficult to tell which, actually," he added, grinning. "They stayed at the Circus Circus, but I'm told there is one in both cities."  
  
"Hmm, impressive," I admitted reluctantly, taking a sip from my bottle of Jones soda. As we walked down Pier 19 on the first weekend since I had started working at the coffee shop, I wondered, not for the first time, what made me seek the company of the very man I had wanted to strangle on the first day of our meeting. Ever since that rainy walk back to my apartment, we had been nearly inseparable. At first I had merely wanted to know more about the wealthy southern man with the abrasive personality, but soon I had to grudgingly admit to myself that I enjoyed being with him. Today, for instance, I could have easily stayed home with my un-translated, original French edition of 'The Count of Monte Cristo', but for some reason I called Rhodes instead. I suppose opinions change.  
  
Nudging me with his expensively-clad elbow, Rhodes asked, "You see that young woman in the denim jacket?"  
  
I followed his gaze to said woman, who was throwing a crust of bread to a lethargic pelican. "Yeah, what about her?"  
  
"Recently divorced, with two young children," he said quietly, so as not to alert the attention of the woman. "Her husband had an affair, but the court granted him custody of the children." He snorted. "Most likely accused her of alienation of affection. That one always seems to work."  
  
"That's horrible," I replied, frowning. "But how did you get all that from looking at her?"  
  
Rhodes smiled enigmatically. "Train your eyes, Bridges."  
  
I looked at the woman more closely, while trying not to freak her out by staring right at her. "Okay, I see the white line where her wedding ring used to be. That tells me she's definitely divorced, because if her husband had died she would still be wearing the ring." I squinted, then added, "She's wearing one of those necklaces that parents wear with their kids' birthstones on them, so yeah, she has two children. A boy and a girl."  
  
"Very good for a first attempt," he said, looking at me with a touch of admiration. Suddenly I felt like a genius for the simple reason that he had praised me.  
  
Looking around eagerly for another victim of Rhodes analysis, I spotted a young girl of roughly fifteen or sixteen years of age walking down the pier with two of her friends, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down. "That kid over there," I said, using my eyes as a directional aid. "What's her life story?"  
  
As he turned his head to find who I was referring to, Rhodes' entire body suddenly stiffened. His back went rigid, and his bright green gaze quickly moved from the girl down to his black Italian shoes. Alarmed, I put my hand on his arm and looked up at him, taking in his clenched jaw and his drawn eyebrows.  
  
"Rhodes! Rhodes, are you okay?" I asked, growing increasingly worried.  
  
He cleared his throat, blinking as if he was recovering from a dizzy spell. "Yes, I'm all right. Sorry about that." He began walking again, but I could tell from his tense shoulders that he was still in considerable distress. I looked back at the blonde teenager as she continued on her way, oblivious to the episode my friend had just experienced. Abruptly I realized that Rhodes was already far ahead of me, and I ran to catch up with him.  
  
"Hey," I said as soon as I had matched his stride, "what was that back there, with the blonde girl?"  
  
He shook his head, looking directly in front of him with exaggerated focus. "It was nothing, really. She merely looked like someone I used to know."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Now he was beginning to show irritation - something I had not yet witnessed until now. "Your endless questions become bothersome, Bridges. However," he added reluctantly at the slightly hurt look on my face, "if you must know, the girl back there bore a striking resemblance to my sister."  
  
I frowned. Not only did I not know Rhodes even had a sister, but I was also ignorant of why seeing someone who resembled her would cause him such discomfort. That is, unless...  
  
Before I even had the chance to open my mouth, he answered my unspoken qusetion. "She died."  
  
Something tightened in my chest at those two words. I stopped walking, which cause Rhodes to do so as well, and looked up at him. His long black lashes tried to hide those quick, intelligent green eyes, but they couldn't conceal the pain and torture, and something else. It almost looked like guilt.  
  
I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "I'm so sorry, Rhodes, I didn't even--"  
  
A thin white hand placed itself reassuringly on my shoulder, and he smiled the sweetest, most heartbreaking smile I have ever seen. "Don't be," he said quietly. Giving my shoulder one last pat, he turned and continued walking down the pier. As I struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride, I wondered what else I didn't know about him.  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
"Bridges, come here."  
  
I did as I was commanded, and left my position where I had been watching the boats enter and leave the docks to see what was so important. Rhodes sat slouched on a long bench, and it occurred to me that despite his impeccable dress and manner of speaking, he still had that horrible habit of slouching. *Must be hell on his trapezius muscles,* I thought, the masseuse in me coming to the surface.  
  
I stopped in front of him, my fists planted on my hips. "Yes, Your Grace?"  
  
He said nothing, which left me no other option but to stare back at him. On closer observation, I noticed that he was wearing a different pair of shoes - shoes he would *never* wear as long as he was in his right mind. My eyebrows drew together, and suddenly I realized what he had done and burst out laughing.  
  
"Well, mah mama always told me life was like a box o' chocolates," he said, grinning as I sat down next to him on the bench. His polished black shoes were planted inside a painted cast of Forrest Gump's white and red sneakers. He pointed to the sign above the restaurant we were near, which read "Bubba Gump Shrimp Co." That explained the enormous shoes outside the place. Children who passed us giggled at Rhodes as they walked by.  
  
"They have unexpectedly good pasta," he said seriously.  
  
"Do they?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "And I'm sure you're a culinary afficionado. Are you through being infantile?"  
  
Rhodes smiled. "Just about." Starting at a sudden beeping sound, he pulled a small black pager out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows. "Mm, this should be interesting."  
  
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "What?"  
  
"One of my more inconsiderate colleagues," he said vaguely, freeing his feet and standing up. "Apparently there's been a new development, and he needs my assistance." From the inside pocket of his jacket, he extracted a cell phone, which he flipped open to dial a number. I watched, feeling oddly like a third wheel, as he held the phone up to his ear and spoke. "Solomon? Yes, it's Rhodes. You paged me?" A pause. "Well, why can't you tell me now? I see." Another pause, in which he became slightly uneasy. "Of course, I understand. Yes, I'll be at my condo in forty-five minutes, if you'll meet me. All right, I'll see you there." Flipping the phone shut, he shoved it back in his coat and looked at me apologetically.  
  
"You have to go?" I asked, quite unnecessarily.  
  
He nodded. "You're certainly welcome to come with me, Bridges. I hate to cut our visit short."  
  
My feeling of being unwelcome abruptly made a U-turn, and in fact I was thrilled that he would invite me. Besides, even though he had been to my apartment(to my everlasting shame), I had not yet seen where he lived. How could I ever pass up the opportunity to lay eyes on Ethan Rhodes' pad? "Sure, I'd be happy to," I said, grinning.  
  
And so we began our walk back up the pier, which soon became more of a brisk hike, then a hurried jog, then finally a desperate sprint to catch the streetcar uptown. His shoes making a terrible racket as he clambered onto the shiny red trolley, Rhodes pulled me up after him seconds before it began its laborous journey uphill. The whistle blew once to signal the trolley's departure, and Rhodes and I collapsed in a fit of helpless laughter.  
  
The street signs went by at a leisurely pace, and when I noticed we were only blocks away from Lombard Street, Rhodes ushered me off the streetcar. We continued our frenzied flight to his condo on foot, and as I was just preparing myself to ask him if he lived in Sacramento, he pointed out his residence.  
  
And introduced me to Paradise.  
  
I skidded to a halt as we arrived at our destination, silently thanking the man for introducing me to the vision before me. The complex was composed of four weathered but lovely two-storey brick buildings that stood in a square on the corner of the street. Ivy trailed lazily up the exterior of the buildings, and though it was far past the blooming season, little white and blue flowers seemed perfectly content in their boxes outside several windows. In the middle of the square of buildings, behind an intricate wrought-iron gate, was a small courtyard paved in cobblestones. Elm trees with leaves of orange and gold protectively enclosed the little area, and a pair of benches sat on either side of a quietly burbling fountain. A few fallen leaves lay scattered about the ground.  
  
"My God," I breathed when I finally recovered my voice. "It's so beautiful."  
  
"It is very picturesque, isn't it?" my companion murmured, and I could tell he appreciated the rare beauty of a place such as this.  
  
He opened the front gate and led me through, and as we walked through the courtyard, I sighed wistfully. "Leave it to you, Rhodes, to live somewhere like this. On a scale of one to ten, my jealousy rates about forty-two million."  
  
He smiled. "Possessions aren't everything, Bridges." Of course, he would say that. He wore Armani suits and Italian loafers, lived in an urban utopia, and probably owned - or at least had time shares in - his own Hawaiian volcano.  
  
Rhodes' condominium was the one that stood in the top-left corner of the square of buildings, and as he threw the deadbolt and held the door open for me, I was blown away by even more surprises. The foyer led directly into the spacious living room, which was nestled comfortably under the staircase leading to the second floor. Every piece of furniture in the room had a distinctly Japanese style to it - from the low coffee table and rice-paper lamps right down to the potted bamboo stalks in the corner. It was all very cool and modern, yet somehow inviting.  
  
Taking my coat off my shoulders like the old-fashioned gentleman he was, Rhodes asked if I would like some coffee, which I politely declined(I brewed the cursed stuff almost every day, after all), and took his leave of me briefly, telling me to make myself at home. I walked past the futon couch in favor of the cozy-looking papasan chair by the window, marvelling at how impossibly comfortable it was. Allowing my eyes to wander about the room, I took in the titles of numerous true crime stories in the bookcase, along with several other books of a morbid subject. I blinked in disbelief, wondering if I was seeing clearly, when I saw a gleaming black electric guitar on its stand near the red-brick fireplace. Somehow, I could never picture Rhodes "jamming on his axe".  
  
There came the clear ringing of a doorbell which jolted me out of my reverie, followed by Rhodes' voice from the other side of the condo. "Bridges, would you be so kind as to answer that?"  
  
I rose from the chair, feeling awkward, and walked to the front door. As soon as I opened it, a stocky bald man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit burst into the foyer, looking around the room and ignoring me completely. "Rhodes, where the hell are you? This case is too important for me to waste my time on your stupid little games." The man turned swiftly around to look at me. "Who are you?"  
  
His exaggerated rudeness and incompetence was almost enough to make me laugh. "I'm Nadia Bridges," I said, holding out my hand and smiling cheerily. "I'm a friend of Mr. Rhodes."  
  
The man looked me shamelessly up and down, unaware that I was barely keeping myself from slapping him, and shook my hand, smiling lasciviously. "Agent Edward Solomon, FBI. Sorry about my discourtesy. Rhodes said he'd be here, but..." He shrugged, the lewd grin still on his face. "I can just wait here until he gets back."  
  
My nose scrunched up against my will, but fortunately I spun around to see Rhodes sauntering down the hall to meet us. "Ah, Solomon. I thought I heard the bell," he said in his pleasant Southern drawl. He turned to me and, to my substantial shock, slipped his hand into mine. "Thank you for getting the door, darling."  
  
I don't think I have to say that I turned bright red, but there you have it. Solomon looked at Rhodes, then at me, then at Rhodes again. My friend smiled genially at the FBI agent, not missing a beat. "I see you've met Nadia. Isn't she a treasure?"  
  
"I, er, of course," stuttered Solomon, taking an unconscious step back. "Rhodes, I wasn't aware that you were," - with a quick, embarrassed glance at me - "seeing anyone."  
  
"Well, you know me. I'm so reserved sometimes, you never know what to expect," he prattled on as I stood incredulously with my hand firmly gripped in his. "But yes, I met Nadia at the coffee house down by the Wharf, the Boule des Nerfs. Perhaps you've been there? No? In any case, I saw her waiting tables and simply couldn't take my eyes off her. Isn't that right, dear?"  
  
A slow smile spread across my face as I realized that Rhodes was protecting me from that lech Solomon. "Oh yes, that's exactly right, honey. And you know, Ethan's such a hopeless romantic, I just couldn't resist him." Four years in my high school's drama class weren't for nothing.  
  
As Solomon continued to squirm in humiliation, I received another shock when Rhodes beamed at me and raised my hand to his lips. Drama class or no, my blush was impossible to hide. But of course, he remained oblivious to my discomfort.  
  
Solomon finally cleared his throat and smiled. "Well, I guess I must congratulate you, Rhodes. You landed quite a catch. In fact, if you hadn't snatched her up, I'd be tempted to do it myself."  
  
*Hooray, I can almost feel the gorge rising in my throat,* I thought in disgust. Rhodes must have sensed my revulsion, because he drew a protective arm around me.  
  
"So, Solomon," he said formally, "what was so important that you had to tell me in person?"  
  
Abruptly the agent straightened his spine, all business. "Your client, Martin Chan, was found dead this morning, dismembered and hidden in a Dumpster."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: And so, finally, here comes the mystery. Who the heck is Martin Chan, who killed him, and why is he connected with Rhodes? And more importantly, isn't Agent Solomon gross? Just kidding, that's not really important. But seriously, I hope you like the story so far. Even before the actual case presented itself, I wanted to add a little mystery to Rhodes' character. Thus, the whole thing about his sister's death. You'll find out more soon, trust me. In the meantime, be content with what you know now. Oh and, before I go, isn't Rhodes' condo the coolest!? Wish I lived there. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think so far! Thank ye kindly!  
  
-Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	3. Untangling the Web

A/N: Chapter three! Whoo! Here it is already. I fear I may be neglecting my other fanfics, but I'm just having so much fun writing this, I keep using up all my spare time on it instead of the others. Oh well, my readers can always wait... or send me a bomb, either one. Anyway, I'm glad everyone likes Rhodes so far. I was afraid I'd make him too overbearing or something. Which he is, but he's still a good guy. Enough about our Southern friend, though; what does everyone think of his Boswell, Ms. Bridges? I'm afraid she may have been modeled a little after me, with the sarcasm and whatnot, but I guess that's inevitable, since her words are coming from my brain. So there it is. Anyway, enough of my meaningless blathering. Read on, friends!  
  
Disclaimer: Although I am the sole owner and proprietor of my pride and joy, Rhodes and Bridges(Rhodes being the "pride"), the credit for the original idea belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  
  
  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Three: Untangling the Web  
  
  
  
  
  
Rhodes' arm immediately dropped to his side, and he stared at Agent Solomon with an expression of horror and disbelief. "He's dead?" he repeated. "What time was his body discovered?"  
  
"Approximately ten-fifteen this morning," the agent replied, whipping out a battered leather notebook to consult. It was a quarter to twelve now. "One of the janitors in the high-rise where Chan lived was taking some garbage down to the Dumpsters in the alley. At first he thought someone had thrown in a dismembered mannequin. Scared the living hell out of him when he found out what it was."  
  
Throughout Solomon's narrative, Rhodes had become increasingly disconcerted, and now he was pacing across the living room restlessly, shaking his head. I watched, completely baffled by the entire situation. "This kind of audacity goes against any of my preconceived notions of the assassins," he muttered to himself. He spun around to face Solomon. "Where is the body now?" he demanded.  
  
"Morgue," was the agent's blunt response. My friend instantly donned his grey overcoat once again and yanked open the front door. He was halfway onto the stoop, following closely at Solomon's heels, when I cleared my throat. Reminded of my presence, he turned and looked at me, his green eyes showing a decidedly sheepish embarrassment.  
  
"I hope you'll forgive me, Bridges," he said, offering a guilty smile. "This is a matter of extreme importance, you see, and I have to get to the morgue to examine this body as quickly as possible. I doubt whether you would have any desire to accompany me on such a macabre outing, but the offer stands."  
  
I returned his gaze, debating if I really wanted to visit a morgue on my weekend off. But despite my disinclination, there was still that dominant part of me that craved to know what Rhodes was involved with. Was he FBI? Some sort of private investigator, maybe? I knew so little about him, after all, and by going with him, there was a good chance my knowledge would be considerably increased.  
  
"All right, I'll go with you," I told him. "On the condition that you tell me what's going on."  
  
Rhodes smiled. "A reasonable prerequisite."  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
I have often found that, if one is in a great hurry, it is far better to take the streetcar to one's destination rather than rely on one's own car. The traffic in San Francisco was bad enough on work days, but on this particular Saturday, when couples and families were waiting impatiently at intersections along with tourists who had no comprehension whatsoever of the city's traffic laws - that is, move over or get rear-ended - the logic of taking Agent Solomon's black BMW to the morgue somehow eluded me.  
  
Fortunately I was denied the thrill of sitting next to the dumpy FBI agent, and as I climbed into the back seat and promptly sank into the leather, I was absurdly pleased when Rhodes opened the door and slid in next to me. He buckled his seatbelt with an amusing primness, and then proceeded to indulge in that nasty slouching habit of his which always made me want to slap him with a ruler like an irate teacher.  
  
"So?" I asked once he had gotten himself into a position that would surely make a chiropractor - or an masseuse-in-training such as myself - cringe in disapproval. "Are you going to tell me what all this is about? Or am I forever doomed to follow you around without the foggiest notion of what's going on?"  
  
"Don't be so melodramatic." Resting his chin on the heel of his palm, Rhodes frowned in irritation out the window as we drove down the street at an achingly slow pace. "I suppose I should start at the beginning," he said with a sigh. "Last week, a middle-aged Chinese man came to my door with a very disturbing problem. That was the client I was meeting, Bridges, when I met you. He introduced himself as Martin Chan, and without preamble, informed me that there were men who were seeking to kill him.  
  
"Naturally, I asked him what had so convinced him of this. He told me he had recieved three threatening notes, each one with the sign of the Triads on it. When I asked him why the crime ring would want to kill him, he explained that he had been a member of the gang in New York, but because he married and wanted no harm to come to his wife, he moved to California and cut off all contact with the Triads." Rhodes shook his head, his unruly black hair flopping into his eyes. "He thought that was the most plausible explanation for the threats, but for some reason, it doesn't satisfy me."  
  
"And now he's dead," I said, understanding why he was so upset.  
  
He groaned and leaned back in the seat, his long legs pushing against the driver's seat in front of him. Solomon turned around briefly to glare at him over his shoulder, then resumed his maneuvering through the urban swarms.  
  
"Yes, now he's dead," said Rhodes wearily. "And I have no evidence. No footprints, thanks to the police and the Feds," - with a meaningful look at the agent in the front seat - "no scene of the murder, no suspects, nothing." I noticed that when Rhodes became emotional his accent was much more pronounced. "So that's what I'm going on. Nothing. I failed him, Bridges. He came to me, trusting that I would protect him, and I failed him."  
  
And then he confirmed what I had been suspecting all along: "Some detective I am."  
  
"So you're a detective," I murmured. It certainly explained the visits from FBI agents, the clients, even the uncanny ability to read people simply by looking at them. "Rhodes! Why didn't you tell me before?"  
  
"You never asked," he replied, shrugging.  
  
"That's no excuse," I said illogically. "I didn't hide the fact that I was a waitress from you."  
  
He blinked. "We- we met at the coffee house."  
  
That closed my mouth for an instant... but only an instant. "Okay, you're right," I admitted. "But there's still a lot I don't know about you. You weren't going to just wait for me to figure it out by myself, were you? You have to understand, Rhodes. I don't have the brilliant mind that you do."  
  
"All right, I get it," he said, smiling for the first time since we had gotten into the car. "I'm sorry, Bridges. From now on, I will answer any question you may have about me with the utmost honesty." He patted my hand to emphasize the point.  
  
*Do questions about your sister count?* I thought to myself, but did not dare bring up the sensitive topic.  
  
Solomon suddenly shifted in his seat, causing both passengers in the back to look up sharply. "Hey, you two make a great couple and all," he said uneasily, as if unsure whether he should continue. "But do you always call each other by your last names?"  
  
Rhodes and I stared at each other, and I could tell that I was not the only one who had forgotten our little charade. He bit his lip to keep from laughing, and I cleared my throat. "Well, you see, when we first met, we didn't get along that well," I explained, which wasn't at all false. "In fact, I believe I called him a rich, arrogant little brat."  
  
"And a delusional psychopath," my friend added, smiling sweetly.  
  
Kicking him discreetly in the shin, I allowed myself a casual laugh. "So we started calling each other by our last names - Rhodes and Bridges, isn't that a coincidence? - and I guess it just stuck. Wouldn't you say that was how it happened, honey?"  
  
"Exactly how it happened, *darling*," he replied, reaching over to give my arm a hard pinch.  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
I was always afraid of death, and going through the doors of the city morgue was like walking into my worst phobia fully realized. The place smelled like a mixture of formaldehyde and bug spray, poorly masked with a floral-scented air freshener. The click of my heels echoed through the expansive hallways, and though I was wearing a coat, I became aware that I was shivering like it was twenty below.  
  
Rhodes must have noticed my anxiety, because halfway through our happy little expedition to the freezer - or as Solomon liked to call it, "the meat locker" - he silently took my hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.  
  
At this time, I would like to point out that I maintained my composure for quite a while. When we arrived at the heavy metal doors; when we opened them and stepped inside the icy, cavernous room; even when I saw the countless rows of cold, gleaming drawers... Even though my breathing became heavier and my heart rate quickened, I remained reasonably calm. It was not until Agent Solomon laid his hand on the handle of one of the drawers and began to pull that I lost it.  
  
That glimpse of red...  
  
"Okay, I can't do this," I blurted, turning around and squeezing my eyes shut. My heart was now slamming against my ribcage, and my throat constricted. I tried to take deep breaths, but I overcompensated and began hyperventilating. Through the pounding of my ears, I heard Solomon groan in annoyance, but Rhodes was instantly by my side with both hands on my shoulders. That was when I realized how rubbery my legs were.  
  
I opened my eyes to see two chips of emerald looking back at me. "Bridges, calm down," he said, his voice soft and soothing. "It's all right. You don't have to be here. Nobody's forcing you."  
  
Swallowing hard, I made myself control my breathing. Now that my head was clearing I felt like an idiot. "I'm sorry, Rhodes. I just... I can't look at a mutilated body today."  
  
"I understand completely," he replied, though I'm not sure, with his iron stomach, that he really did. "Do you need me to walk you out?"  
  
I shook my head fiercely. "No. No, I'll just wait outside until you're done doing... whatever."  
  
He nodded almost imperceptibly, his hands dropping to his sides. Trying to maintain what little dignity I had left, I walked past him out the doors, fully aware that Solomon was looking at me in derision. After the door had hissed shut, I sat down on one of the white plastic chairs in the hallway and waited. And waited.  
  
It was exactly thirty-six minutes later that the heavy doors swung open, almost coming off their hinges, and a very livid Ethan Rhodes walked past me, his face clouded with rage. Solomon soon followed, puffing like an angry bull. I quickly rose from my chair and ran to catch up with them.  
  
As I matched Rhodes' stride, I could hear him muttering furiously to himself. I tugged lightly on his sleeve, and he slowed a fraction and looked at me. "What's wrong?" I asked.  
  
"Nothing's wrong," he replied angrily, which told me that was obviously a lie. "Unless, of course, you count Agent Solomon's blatant inability to acknowledge anything of importance."  
  
I looked over my shoulder at Solomon, whose shiny head was sweating with the exertion of keeping up with the young detective. "I fail to see," he said, exasperated, "what was so important about a stupid Chinese character carved onto the victim's forehead."  
  
At that Rhodes whirled around to face the agent, causing him to skid to a stop. "The significance of the Chinese character on the victim's forehead," he said slowly, as if he was explaining it to a child, "is that it is the Chinese character for 'revenge'."  
  
Solomon blinked, letting this new development sink in. Turning around once again, Rhodes continued walking. "You do have Chan's personal effects, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah, the bag's in my coat pocket," the agent answered, finally recovering his professionalism as he walked beside us. "There's not much. Wallet, reading glasses, a couple rings—"  
  
"Let me see them."  
  
With growing irritation, Solomon dug inside his disreputable jacket and pulled out a clear plastic bag. He handed it to Rhodes, who instead of looking at it, passed it to me. "What can you see, Bridges?" he asked me.  
  
Surprised that he wanted my opinion, I raised the bag to my face and looked through the plastic. I saw a black eelskin wallet that had been stitched and re-stitched many times, a small brown glasses-case, a white handkerchief with a red and yellow dragon embroidered on the corner, and two gold rings. I felt a pang, recognizing that these seemingly meaningless possessions had belonged to a man with a family, and people who loved him. The humanity of the situation was sobering.  
  
Looking at the rings again, I frowned. "That's weird."  
  
"What?" asked Rhodes.  
  
"One of these rings is a woman's ring," I said, bringing the bag closer to my face. "It's all scratched and worn, too. There's no telling how old it is, but I'm betting it didn't belong to Chan."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Ooooh... Such strange goings-on, no? In case you haven't figured it out already, which I'm sure you have, this story is a modern version of 'A Study in Scarlet'. Duh. But obviously, I didn't want to reproduce the original plot *exactly*, so I changed the society the victim was involved with to something a little more up-to-date. Sooo, you like so far? Think Bridges is a wuss for freaking out in the morgue? Well, I don't. I wouldn't particularly want to see a naked dismembered person, and I'm sure I'm not alone. But enough about that. So we finally know what it is that Rhodes does. He's not FBI, but he's an ally to them when they're not sure what to do next. And QDramaStr, you were right about the Lestrade parallel in Solomon. Though the agent isn't as ferrety as the good inspector, neither of them put a lot of faith in their detective rivals. Sad but true. Anyway, everyone tell me what you think of the latest chapter, and meanwhile I'll be working on the next one. Ta!  
  
-Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	4. In the Late Hours

A/N: What took me so long, you say? Well, it seems that even though I have a whole lot of free time on my hands, my mind always reminds me about the other stories I've been neglecting. But here I am, eager to continue my most promising story. Lucky for you, no? *readers: No!* Hahahah... yeah. So anyway, I guess everyone likes my dynamic duo so far. I don't like to think of Rhodes as being exactly like Sherlock Holmes. Rhodes is a bit more compassionate than his nineteenth-century equivalent, and more sensitive to people's feelings. Of course, he's arrogant. He has to be. Bridges, on the other hand, is pure Watson. They're both caring and emotional, and appreciative of simple beauty. I think that both Nadia Bridges and her counterpart, John Watson, are the kind of friend everyone needs, and everyone takes for granted. But there I go, blabbering away again. Here's the latest chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the man who created the legend, is the one who takes the credit for my story. Without the idea to go on, it would be nothing.  
  
  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Four: In the Late Hours  
  
  
  
  
  
"So to release that tension built up right there, you want to apply pressure here, below the latissimus dorsi, and... Nadia? Nadia, are you listening?"  
  
I snapped out of my trance and looked up sharply at my instructor's irritated face. "Yeah. I was listening. Sorry, Thomas."  
  
He rolled his eyes and went on to the next student, leaving me to continue working on my patient... or maybe I should say "guinea pig". In truth, I hadn't been listening at all. Ever since that Saturday, two days before, when Rhodes' client had been murdured, my mind could not focus on anything else. Though the man had been killed evidently for revenge, the murderer - or murderers - had so far gotten away with it, and they were still out there; most likely still somewhere in San Francisco. Until Rhodes figured out who had done it, no one was safe.  
  
I kept thinking about the ring that was found on Chan's body; the old, scratched wedding band. It obviously hadn't belonged to him, because judging from the size of the other one, he had been a man possessed of considerably large fingers, and besides, what kind of guy wears women's rings anyway? Perhaps it belonged to his wife. But no, that didn't make any more sense than the first hypothesis; the ring was far too worn for any self-respecting woman to wear in public. For some reason, I had a feeling it didn't belong to his wife either.  
  
*Damn that Rhodes,* I thought in frustration as I kneaded my patient's tightened muscles. *My life was normal before I met him.*  
  
Our class concluded with the directions to read chapters ten and eleven in our study volume, which was not an easy task, considering how thick the book was. I prepared myself for a splitting headache as I called my goodnights to my instructor and fellow students and headed out the door onto the cold, dark street.  
  
During every instance in which my father had called me since I moved to San Francisco, he had included in his flurry of anecdotes, news of neighbors, and affirmations of paternal love some form of warning not to wander alone through the city at night. And, after each instance, I assured him that I had not even considered doing so. In fact, until tonight, my reassurances were actually true; during the rare occasions in which Rhodes had not accompanied me, I had taken a cab to my apartment complex, even though the number of blocks between it and the massage school could be counted on two hands.  
  
But on this particular night, when for once it wasn't raining buckets on the dark city, I was too anxious to get home to bother spending money on a taxi. Wrapping my coat tighter around myself, I started off down the street, my boots squelching on the sidewalk, which was still wet from the afternoon showers. I didn't feel especially apprehensive; it wasn't as if I was completely defenseless in the event that someone tried to mug me. In high school, after much begging, I had convinced my father to let me learn tae kwon do, and if it was absolutely necessary, I was at least capable of breaking the arm of a man twice my size.  
  
Not quite the helpless little small-town girl you thought I was, eh?  
  
In any case, it was not until my apartment building was within sight that I began to feel uneasy. That prickly, back-of-the-neck feeling that someone was watching me flooded my senses against my will, making me increasingly irrational. I tried to shake it off, but since I had unconsciously picked up my pace, it was obvious that I failed to get rid of the feeling. Memories of Martin Chan and his gruesome death swirled through my head, and the idea of being shot and dismembered after my father's warnings made me wish I had spent the dough on a damned taxi.  
  
The sudden sound of a shoe scuffing on the concrete nearly sent me sprinting toward my apartment in a terrified frenzy. I might have done so, too, if I hadn't sworn that the sound had come from an alley in front of me. Abruptly I stopped walking, pressing myself against the concrete wall of a building. Breathing through my nose to reduce any sound I might be making, I edged forward, making my way toward the alley. If there was anyone waiting for me to pass by, I certainly wasn't going to waltz merrily down the sidewalk right in front of them. I had to, at the least, find out how many of them were back there. Swallowing hard at the final moment, I decided to act before I lost my nerve and leaned forward, peering around the corner of the building.  
  
Immediately a hand clamped over my mouth, and I lashed out with all my limbs. My right fist swung around and came into contact with solid flesh, and to my anger and embarrassment, I heard a familiar male voice grunt in pain. "Good Lord, Bridges," it hissed, "are you trying to blind me?"  
  
My eyes widened in disbelief. "Rhodes? What the hell are you doing back here?" I yelled at the silhouetted figure, demanding an explanation. "Are you insane!?"  
  
"Keep it down," he said under his breath. Taking me by the arm, he led me further into the alley, and as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I saw Rhodes more clearly. He was dressed in black from head to toe: black coat, black turtleneck, black pants, black boots. And, I noticed with mortification, a rapidly forming black eye. "I can see that accompanying you back home from your massage classes was hardly necessary," he observed dryly.  
  
Though I felt horrible for hurting the young detective, I was still furious at him for lying in wait for me. "You scared the bejesus out of me," I whispered harshly, remembering what he had said about being quiet.  
  
"I'm sorry, Bridges, I suppose I can understand your anger." He *supposed*? "But I can assure you, it was necessary. I was waiting for one of Martin Chan's murder suspects to appear, and I needed complete silence."  
  
"One of Chan's murderers?" I repeated nervously, barely repressing a shiver.  
  
"Murder *suspects*, Bridges. There is a difference." He reached up with one hand to rub his shoulder absently. Yeah, that's what you get for slouching. "There's a nightclub two blocks away that draws in a large number of Triad members. It's far too risky to keep watch near the place, but I was hoping one of them would take this route on their way home. If I could find out where he lived, it would make solving this maddening case much easier. Of course, I highly doubt he's coming, if he heard that deafening outburst of yours," he added regretfully.  
  
I stared at him, offended. "Oh, excuse me for thinking that someone was attacking me. Chalk it up to the senility I must be getting in my twenty-two years of age." Rhodes glared at me, and I sighed, regretting my sarcasm. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm still a little freaked out. Well, as long as your bloodthirsty friend isn't going to pass by this way, you might as well come back to my apartment and put some ice on that eye."  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
"I'm not sure this persona you created for me, Bridges, is the kind of boost I wanted for my reputation as a private detective."  
  
I made a face at Rhodes as I opened the door of the freezer and pulled out a pack of blue ice. "Technically, you brought this on yourself," I replied, walking to the linen closet and finding the softest towel I owned. "Besides, since when do you care what other people think of you?"  
  
He shrugged and leaned back, sinking into my beige sofa. "I don't, anymore," he said quietly, closing his eyes. "But you have to admit, a bad image can be detrimental to one's career. How can I expect anyone to take me seriously as a professional, if no one has any faith in my work?"  
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I hadn't known him for very long, but even I could tell that Rhodes was very good at what he did; shockingly good. Why should he have any reason for low self-esteem? "Well, what about the FBI?" I asked casually as I wrapped the towel around the ice pack. "The Bureau seems to put a lot of trust in you."  
  
"Ah. The Bureau." He scrunched up his nose with distaste. "Their so-called 'talent' for finding the most important factors in a case is certainly nothing to write home about. Solomon usually calls me when a problem of his has him running in circles. This last time was different, because Chan was my client, but..." He trailed off and sighed wearily. "Bad publicity is not the Bureau's forte. Which is why, more often than not, they claim total credit. That's not to say that I want notoriety," he hastened to add. "I'm only interesting in seeing cases through, and giving criminals what they deserve."  
  
I smiled at him. "Thus bringing peace and justice to the world once again?" I suggested.  
  
One brilliant green eye opened, and he grinned back at me. "Something like that."  
  
I collapsed on the couch next to him and held out the ice pack as a peace offering. "I'm sorry I punched you, Rhodes," I said with a repentant smile.  
  
"Think nothing of it," he replied, taking the pack from my hand and pressing carefully against his right eye. He showed no signs of discomfort, to my relief, and for a while we just sat in an easy silence. I marvelled at that fact that we had only met the week before, and I felt like I had known him forever.  
  
Inevitably, my mind drifted back to the incident with the blonde girl on the pier. Rhodes had literally been paralyzed with shock and pain at the mere sight of her, and when he had confessed that she bore a striking resemblance to his sister, there had undeniably been guilt in his voice.  
  
*How did she die, Rhodes?* I thought, watching him as he reclined sleepily on my couch. *Why does the memory cause you such torture? And why can't I get up the nerve to ask you?*  
  
His voice interrupted my musings: "Did your instructor assign you any homework?"  
  
"Gah!" I exclaimed articulately, remembering the thick tome I had abandoned next to my purse by the front door. "Thanks for reminding me," I said, retrieving the book off the floor and bringing it to my much-used desk across the living room. As I opened the monstrous volume and flipped to the assigned chapters, I was thankful that I was a fairly fast reader, since I probably wouldn't have enough time to finish after work. Quickly assimilating various pressure points, I was lost in my studies until I heard Rhodes's low, precise voice utter my name. I twisted around until I faced the couch and met his questioning gaze.  
  
"If you are occupied, I can leave," he offered, raising a jet-black eyebrow. "It is almost midnight, after all."  
  
Abruptly an emotion akin to sheepishness surged through me, and I laughed apologetically. It hadn't even occurred to me that I might be making Rhodes feel a bit unwelcome. It was certainly not intentional - and if this narration requires I must tell the truth, I had absolutely no desire to make him go. After all, I supposed I could find time to study before my shift at the coffee house started. "Really, it's all right," I assured him, almost closing the book on my fingers. "I need to give my brain a rest anyway."  
  
He nodded, and I knew he understood fully what I meant. As an aspiring detective, he was, no doubt, constantly faced with tangles in his orderly webs of deduction. I wondered if he ever wished he could just take a break.  
  
I sat down beside him once again, requesting that he lower the ice pack from his injured eye. He obeyed, and I scrutinized the damage I had wreaked upon his poor, pretty face. "It looks like the swelling's gone down," I decided, noting that the purple tint had faded a bit as well. I told him as much, and he appeared greatly relieved that my fist o' fury had not disfigured him permanently.  
  
As I settled back in the couch once again, pleased to see there were no broken blood vessels in the eye itself, Rhodes spoke up. "What made you want to become a masseuse, if I may ask?"  
  
"You may," I replied as he regarded me with the rapt attention he gave to everything around him. "You were right, on the first day we met, about me being raised on a farm. My father and I lived on a big, beautiful farm a few miles from Olympia. Why do I say 'my father and I', you ask? Well, my mother died during childbirth, so it was always just me and mah pa. Of course, we had a couple farmhands around, but you know what I mean. We were in it together." I sighed, not really sure why I was telling my life story to this young, charming, and extremely mysterious man. Maybe I felt some sort of connection to him, because we had both experienced loss in our lives. At any rate, I continued.  
  
"You'd be surprised how many unseasonably warm days we get up in western Washington. Dad and I would usually drive into town, or maybe to the beach if we were feeling particularly daring. But sometimes we would just go horse-back riding together. God, I loved those days. Dad always rode that old nag that he just couldn't bring himself to sell, and I rode my sweet Appaloosa mare, Haydee. We would race across the fields, even though I knew I would win every time, and I always did. The last time we ever did was on a spring day, eight years ago.  
  
"We were on our way back home from a long day of riding, and our asses were so sore, you wouldn't even believe it. We were way too beat to gallop home, so we just let Haydee and the nag walk at whatever pace they wanted to. On the way back it started to drizzle, and then pretty soon it turned into a downpour. Before long, we were drenched to the bone. The horses were no more happy about it than we were, so they started to pick up speed." I closed my eyes, aware that my sentences were becoming more like fragments. "The ground was wet... from the rain... Dad's horse slipped - her old legs started to give way ...She was down before I knew what was going on; down on her side, with Dad under her.  
  
"It was amazing - how calm I was, I mean. Looking back, I don't know how I did it. The nag was whinnying in pain, thunder was booming in my ears. I jumped off Haydee and grabbed the fallen horse's reins, trying to pull her back onto her feet. She wouldn't budge, so I told Dad to grab Haydee's reins, and she would pull him out." I took a deep, unsteady breath, not wanting to continue, but unable to stop. "He told me... He said he couldn't feel anything, he couldn't move his arms or even his fingers. His voice was all... thick and distorted. I willed him to move, to do *something*, but he couldn't. So I climbed onto Haydee again and galloped back to the farm for help. Robbie, the stable boy, saw me outside and ran out to meet me. He got his father, and we all rode back and managed to pull the old horse off my dad. It was too late for her; Robbie's dad had to shoot her. And Dad... I could tell he sometimes wished he could find an easy way out, too." Unable to hold it back, a lone tear spilled down my cheek, even with my eyes still closed. "He was paralyzed from the neck down."  
  
I fell silent, and the only sounds in the apartment were the faint *whoosh* of a passing car on the street below, and the sound of our quiet breathing. Rhodes made no attempt at a sympathetic word, only because he knew I had heard so many in my life that it no longer meant anything.  
  
Finally I broke the silence, my voice still shaky. "We had to sell the farm; had to sell my sweet Haydee, because Dad couldn't work anymore. We moved to Olympia, and we lived on Dad's disability and the money I made waiting tables - God, I swore I would never serve another cup of coffee! Dad's doctors said that without regular movement, his muscles would atrophy, so I became his appointed physical therapist. I guess I understood; was *forced* to understand how hard it was, and still is for him. That's why I want to be a massage therapist. I want to help people get through their pain. No one should have to suffer, even if it's just a little bit."  
  
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks, remembering the nightmares, the phantom limbs, the false hopes. My body shook with silent sobs, and as the couch cushions shifted beside me, I nearly gasped in surprise when I felt a cool hand cover my own. I opened my eyes to see Rhodes sitting close to me, his knees nearly touching mine. The understanding in his green eyes surpassed any simple-minded empathy of the many people who pretended to know what I had gone through; this was true commiseration, as though he could see into my mind, and comprehend my pain, and share it with me. There was something in his gaze that suggested a pain as old and deep as mine - perhaps even deeper.  
  
Reaching up with his other hand, he wiped the tears off my cheeks with his steady, reassuring fingertips. When he spoke, his voice - with all its proper Southern genteelism - was the verbal embodiment of compassion. "You're right, Bridges," he said softly. "No one should have to suffer."  
  
Before I even realized I had freed my hand of his, I leaned into him and squeezed my eyes shut, seeking comfort in his lean, gaunt presence. I found it, although comfort wasn't the only thing I found as his long arms drew protectively around me. I had found in this man; this man I wouldn't have touched with a thirty-foot pole on the first day of our meeting - this kind, brilliant, impossibly deep and enigmatic man - a true friend.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Good night nurse, that only took about a thousand years to write. I'm pretty sure I might have ruptured my brain trying to get it right. Bridges's tragic story alone took me three days to finish. But don't worry, the muse has seized me once again, and you can bet by the time you read this, I'll be working on the next chapter. More to the point, though: how did you like THIS chapter? Too depressing? Not enough mystery? Well, I'll agree with you on both accounts. But not only did I want to deepen Bridges's character a bit, but I also wanted to save the mystery and suspense for the next chapter. I hope everyone can wait! In the meantime, review and give me your honest opinion: Are you please with the way the story is going so far?  
  
Might you, possibly, welcome more stories featuring my Southern detective and his masseuse-in-training friend?  
  
-Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	5. Worrying About the Rain

A/N: Chapter five! Whoo! To all those who reviewed, I thank you. You're an inspiration to our entire organization. What am I even talking about? I'm not sure. Don't judge me, I've had a lot of coffee. Anyway, I started on this chapter the same day I posted the last one, but Writer's Block seized me once again. Now it's past St. Paddy's Day, and seeing as how there was nothing else to do, I decided to park it in front of the computer and get to work on the chapter that frustrated me so. I hope it's easier to read than it was to write. Enjoy!  
  
On a completely unrelated topic, I congratulate my fellow writer and friend March Hare on her absurdly high number of reviews she's gotten for her story, "The Baker Street Three". She truly has a gift, and despite the completely underserved bashing by a certain imbecile who is too cowardly to reveal his email address, she's exceeded far beyond my expectations and can be rightfully called one of the best authors I've met. You done good!  
  
Disclaimer: Even though, technically, I am the sole owner and proprietor of Rhodes and Bridges(Hahahah, you're mine, suckahs!), it would be unfair to take all the credit, since clearly the idea came from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Bow to the master, y'all.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Five: Worrying About the Rain  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Before I had even finished donning my apron, Ethan Rhodes was already seated at his usual table by the window at the coffee house, periodically glancing from his newspaper to the rainy street. From the vaguely distracted and irritated look on his pale face, he must not have been counting on the sudden shower. I swear, San Francisco gets more annual rainfall than the Amazon.  
  
Since it had obviously become my responsibily to wait on "Mr. Impossible" after the way I had handled him on my first day, I pulled my honey-brown hair back, twisted it into a loose knot with a chopstick, and threaded my way through the tables to meet him. He failed to notice me, since he had turned his head once again to stare at the cascades of water drizzling down the glass pane, so I gave him a little tap on the shoulder.  
  
"What's up, Buttercup?" I asked as he turned around to face me. A raised eyebrow was at first the only response I got in return, but he smiled reluctantly and folded his newspaper on his knee.  
  
"Hello, Bridges," he said, stifling a yawn. "How are you this miserable morning?"  
  
I chuckled in commiseration. "I might ask the same of you. You aren't your serenely indifferent self today. Might I hazard a guess?"  
  
With an amused expression, Rhodes leaned back in his chair and folded his fashionably clad arms, looking up at me expectantly.  
  
"I would say," I began as I pulled the notepad out of my apron pocket to take his order, "that judging from your exceptionally dashing ensemble today, you have an appointment with someone this morning. And since the other day you said something about talking with Martin Chan's widow, I'd say that's probably where you're going." Both eyebrows shot up this time, but I continued. "You seem pretty upset about the rain, so you've most likely arranged to meet her somewhere outside, instead of your condo or her place. But it's just a guess, as I said." I smiled. "Can I take your order, sir?"  
  
Rhodes grinned and shook his head. "I suspect you've been hanging around with me too much," he noted. "Yes, you're right on all accounts. Well," he corrected himself, a long index finger tapping his chin, "except about my morning appointment. It's actually scheduled for this afternoon. That is, unless this blasted rain doesn't let up. Very impressive, Bridges," he added absently.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure it'll stop before your appointment," I assured him. "And if it doesn't, you can always reschedule." He nodded, the perturbed expression still on his face, and I patted his shaggy black hair. "Hey, worrying about the rain isn't going to make it go away, okay?"  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched in a passing smile. "No use beating a dead horse?" he offered. My heart stuttered briefly, and Rhodes instantly realized his mistake. He exploded from his chair and grabbed my free hand, enveloping it in both of his. "Oh, dear God, Bridges, I am so sorry," he said softly, running his fingertips over my knuckles. It took an effort to feel them. "I didn't mean to say that, it just came out. I can't believe how insensitive I am. Can you ever forgive me?"  
  
As much as his remark had caught me off guard, I was even more shocked that he could call himself insensitive. I looked up at him and saw deep remorse in his green eyes. "It's okay, Rhodes," I told him. "We all say things we don't want to before we can stop ourselves. It's really all right."  
  
He swallowed weakly. "You're sure?"  
  
"Yes," I replied, and supported it with a genuine smile. He smiled back, but his smile had none of the unfailing cheeriness it usually had. I freed my hand from his grasp and placed it on his arm. "Grande blackberry mocha?" I suggested.  
  
With a barely perceptible nod, he averted his eyes and reclaimed his seat by the window. I jotted his order down on my notepad and began to make my way to the back counter. Before I was out of audible range, however, I heard a low, refined voice murmur a quiet "Thank you."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Dividing up the tip jar, Jenni with an 'I' kept glancing surreptitiously at me as I opened the cash register and gave a customer his change. Or, I guess, what she thought was surreptiously. "Have a nice day, sir," I said politely, smiling as he jammed his hat on his head and left the coffee shop, hesitant to brave the rain and wind. "Pretty nasty weather we've been having, huh?" I asked Jenni.  
  
"Yeah," she said absently. "So what's with you and Mr. Impossible?"  
  
I blinked, surprised by the abrupt change in conversation. "You mean Rhodes?"  
  
"Rhodes, Ethan, Mr. Impossible, Annoying Southern Guy, whatever you want to call him. You two have been all buddy-buddy since your first day working here. And what was all that over at his table?" She unfolded a particularly disreputable dollar bill and set it aside. "I don't get it. First you despise him, now he's the greatest guy in the world?"  
  
I laughed, realizing how strange my sudden friendship with Rhodes might have seemed. "It wasn't exactly like that," I said, although if you want to get all technical, it really was. "Yeah, at first I didn't like him." The words 'for the love of God, leave me alone' echoed through my head, and I cringed regretfully. "But once I got to know him, I saw how sweet and smart and funny and compassionate he is. You can't really judge people from first impressions, Jenni."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" She finished counting all the coins and smiled wryly. "To tell the truth, my *real* first impression of him was '*Man*, that guy has a nice caboose!'"  
  
I looked at her in disbelief, and then we both burst out laughing.  
  
"Hey, Nadia," called a voice, interrupting our idiotic conversation. I twisted around at the cash register and saw one of the other waitresses holding a steaming hot cup of coffee. I couldn't remember her name, but I'm fairly sure that it wasn't what I thought I read on her nametag, which was either Shawanna or Shuwanna. "I made a blackberry mocha with no whipped cream or chocolate shavings like you said, but I'm leaving you to do the cinnamon-dusting." She held the cup out for me.  
  
Squeezing past Jenni, I reached out and took it from her hand, wincing from the heat. "Thanks," I said, slipping a cardboard jacket around it. *Oh, it's just Shanna,* I thought, reading her nametag. *I need to get my eyes checked.* Grabbing the cinnamon shaker off the spice rack, I sprinkled a small amount over the surface of the coffee.  
  
As I fitted a lid over it and left the counter, I heard Jenni cluck her tongue. "You let someone else make Rhodes's coffee? Ooh, His Majesty's gonna be cheesed."  
  
I snickered and quickly shushed her, dodging chairs and customers as I carried my delivery to the raven-haired patron by the window. Setting the cup on the table next to his newspaper, I in turn recieved a warm smile. It seemed he had gotten past his earlier transgression. He picked it up and took a sip. "Hmm." I smothered a grin as his eyebrows drew together. "Did you use skim milk? It tastes different today."  
  
I looked over my shoulder at Jenni, whose satisfied smirk told me she had observed Rhodes's appraisal of the coffee. I cleared my throat and nodded. "Uhh, yeah, that's it. You're a sharp one, you are."  
  
"Not your best work, but satisfactory," he assessed, and I resisted the urge to swat the back of his head as he took another sip. "What time do you get off work?"  
  
"Four," I replied, watching as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop with twitchy energy. He seriously needed to take some yoga classes or something. "Why do you ask?"  
  
Rhodes stood up, rolling up the paper and tucking it inside the spacious folds of his suit. I couldn't help but theorize as to just how much he could fit inside that thing. "I was just wondering if I could persuade you to join me for my appointment with Mae-Lin Chan at four-thirty. It doesn't take long to get to Ghirardelli Square, and I really think you'd be invaluable as a..." He wavered, seaching for the right word. "A female sounding board," he decided upon. I smiled, and apparently he assumed that was my answer. "Then I'll be here to meet you at four?" he asked, hopefulness creeping into his voice.  
  
That boy was really pushing it. As if my studies weren't suffering already - especially two nights ago when I had inexplicably poured my heart out to Rhodes - but now he wanted to drag me along with him on one of his lunatic investigations. Technically, this entire case didn't involve me... however interested I was. Yes, I admit it. Are you happy? But still, I had to face facts, for God's sake: I wasn't his partner, and I wasn't sure I ever wanted to be.  
  
But he was awaiting an answer, and as much as I tried to convince myself that the sidelines was the safest place to be, I just couldn't say no. "Why not?" I finally replied with a sigh of self-denigration.  
  
Our good detective, on the other hand, couldn't be more delighted. "Perfect!" he exclaimed, picking up his coffee with a long, nervous hand. "I'll leave a message with Mrs. Chan explaining that you will be accompanying me." As I reached up to straighten his scarf, which was hung up on the lapels of his overcoat, he glanced out at the rain with a milder irritation than before. "Hopefully it'll let up before our appointment. If not, I suppose I'll just have to stop at home to get my umbrella."  
  
"Hey." He turned from the window to look at me. "Worrying about the rain-"  
  
"-Isn't going to make it go away," he finished, nodding sheepishly. "This you've been decent enough to inform me. Well then, till this afternoon, Bridges." With a last, genuinely contented smile, he strode past me through the coffee house and out the door.  
  
Jenni, who had just finished taking the order of an elderly man who reeked of cigarette smoke, came to a stop and watched Rhodes as he continued down the sidewalk, now blithely imperturbable despite the torrents which quickly soaked both hair and suit. My co-worker put a thoughtful finger to her chin. "You wouldn't happen to know if he has a brother, do you?" she said, grinning.  
  
I shook my head. *Just one dead sister,* I thought, frowning as my eyes followed my tall friend down the street.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You know, Bridges, before I met you, I had no one to accompany me on my appointments," Rhodes commented casually as we made our thoroughly drenched way down the wet sidewalk to Ghirardelli Square. "I've often reflected that most of the women I've interviewed would probably have been more comfortable if I had brought another woman along with me. I never realized how useful a female associate could be," he mused, staring before him thoughtfully.  
  
I quickened my pace to keep up with him, lest I fall behind and lose the protection of his silk umbrella. "I'm flattered, Rhodes," I said dryly; in fact, my tone was the only dry thing about me. "Although I'm not sure 'associate' is the right word. Maybe 'lunatic'?"  
  
Rhodes grinned indulgently as my sarcasm rolled right off his back. He was really enjoying this. "Now now, it can't be all that bad," he countered in his airy southern drawl. "Tell me truthfully: how exciting was your life before you were unfortunate enough to take my order at the coffee house?" He smirked, arching a questioning eyebrow.  
  
On this point I had to agree with him. "Not very," I admitted, wincing as I stepped into an especially deep puddle. "The extent of my adventures was mostly limited to getting suckered into paying for drinks at the bowling alley back in Olympia." Rhodes laughed, and I waved a fist under his nose. "Hey, I could beat your ass," I warned him.  
  
"I don't doubt it," he replied, stifling another smirk. We walked in silence for a while, taking our time: we were getting close to the Square, and we still had fifteen minutes before his appointment with Mrs. Chan. Suddenly my companion spoke up again. "Do you have a lot of friends up in Olympia?"  
  
I blinked, a little surprised that he had picked up our previous topic of conversation. Usually he was content to talk about any number of things in a relatively short time. For being a freelance detective, sometimes he had quite a short attention span.  
  
"Yeah, I have a few," I said, drawing a hand from my coat pocket to reach into my purse. Pulling out my wallet, I snapped it open to reveal my girl-on-the-go photo album. "That's Alma Dominguez," I informed him, pointing to the first picture as he leaned in for a closer look. "We've known each other since third grade. And that," I chuckled, referring to a gangly specimen with an eternal cowlick, "is Will Capshaw. Probably the funniest person I know. He just got married to..." I flipped through the plastic-sheathed photographs. "This girl. Marie Tate. You couldn't find a better suited pair, no matter how long you looked."  
  
Looking intently at the pictures, Rhodes gave an almost inaudible sigh. Feeling a sudden twinge of guilt, I realized that I was probably one of the only friends he had. I didn't understand that.  
  
Attempting to seem nonchalant, I quickly thumbed through to the last photograph. "And this, of course, is my dad," I said, handing my wallet to Rhodes. He scrutinized the picture of the wheelchair-bound man of whom I was so achingly proud. "He can't walk, but he does the best David Letterman impression you'll ever hear," I commented, unable to keep my smile from becoming a sad one.  
  
Rhodes didn't appear to notice, but as he looked at the picture, his own expression became one of profound sorrow. I could understand if he was experiencing empathy toward my father's ill fate, but this was a sadness that seemed to come from a deep inner pain. He caught my worried gaze, and suddenly the haunted look on his pale face vanished. Quickly handing my wallet back to me, he said, "He seems like a great man."  
  
Baffled by his abrupt change in demeanor, I slowly tucked the wallet back into the depths of my purse. "He is," I agreed, feeling awkward. Despite my confusion, the subject of my father reminded me of something he had mentioned during our last conversation. "Hey, Rhodes," I began, still a little hesitant, "would you mind if I used your cell phone to check my messages? I forgot that Dad had said he was going to call me today."  
  
"Of course," he said amiably, as if the entire incident had never occurred. Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out his small silver phone and handed it to me. I flipped it open and dialed my own number, waiting for my answering machine to pick up. On the fourth ring I heard my own voice, which I can't stand hearing.  
  
"Hi, this is Nadia. If I don't pick up, just leave a message after the beep and assume I've finally been buried by my homework. Thanks!" Before the beep could sound, I quickly punched in my personal code. The automated recording informed me I had two messages. The first was indeed from my father, who said that his physical therapist kept recommending old monster movies to him. Yeah, don't ask me.  
  
The second message made me frown. It was my massage instructor, telling me that our class that night was canceled. His voice sounded agitated, and as I listened with perplexity, Rhodes noticed and quirked an eyebrow. After the message ended, I pressed the 'end' button and gave the phone back to him. "Is anything wrong?" he asked, putting it back in his coat.  
  
I shook my head. "Not really, just weird. My massage teacher, Thomas, just canceled tonight's class. He sounded kind of nervous." I shrugged. "Probably family stuff or something. Well, I'm free tonight, if you want to do anything."  
  
"Thomas?" Rhodes echoed. "Thomas who?"  
  
"Actually, you're right," I replied, laughing. "His name's Thomas Hu. H-U." Abruptly he stopped in his tracks, causing me to get my hair caught in his umbrella. "Ow, jeez!" I complained, carefully extracting it as I glared at him. "What was that for?"  
  
Rhodes' face was white - well, whiter than usual - as he stared at me, his green eyes as big as dinner plates. "T-thomas Hu is your massage instructor?" he spluttered in disbelief.  
  
"Yeeaaahh," I said slowly, wondering why this fact was so significant.  
  
My friend's arms flew up, allowing the rain to cascade down on us briefly. "When were you going to tell me?" he demanded exasperatedly.  
  
"I don't know!" I exclaimed, getting defensive for some reason. What difference did it make whether or not he knew my teacher's name? "I guess it never came up, and besides, what's the big deal? Just because he's Asian, it doesn't--"  
  
"Nadia," Rhodes interrupted, startling me into silence by the unexpected use of my given name. My mouth slowly closed, and I merely looked at him expectantly. "Who do you think I was waiting for the other night in the alley?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Hmmm, an unexpected twist, no? Eh, probably not. I'm not that good at throwing exciting plot twists at people. But oh well, I finally got some mystery into this blasted story! That is, besides the whole controversy surrounding the death of Rhodes' sister; or the rest of his family, for that matter. Now why do you think he would get so sad and introspective while looking at a picture of Bridges' father? You can guess, but I'm not going to tell you if you're right. *evil laugh* But anyway, be nice and leave a review. I hope you like it so far!  
  
Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	6. A Blinding Flash of the Obvious

A/N: Ha! Told you I wouldn't keep you waiting for long! Or maybe I just told March Hare... Well, in any case, here's chapter six! And, if I do say so myself, and I think I will, it's quite a revealing one. So strap yourselves in! Oh wait, don't buckle up yet. First I have to reply to some of your nice reviews. Jekyll's Affliction, you were right about the rain being symbolic. Sometimes things get us down, like family problems or stuff at work, or just simple things. And a lot of times, they're not really worth worrying about so much. And Hare, thank you soooo much for being my beta reader! You helped me a lot in this chapter. All right! *rubs hands together* Let's get going, shall we?  
  
Disclaimer: Rhodes and Bridges are mine, along with all the other minor characters. But the concept for this story belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the ideas are contained in full in his first Sherlock Holmes story, "A Study in Scarlet". If you haven't read it, which is highly unlikely, I suggest you do so.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Six: A Blinding Flash of the Obvious  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
For a while I made no response. It seemed like it took forever for Rhodes' words to sink in. What did this interesting little piece of information signify? Was my friendly, polite massage instructor indeed a member of the Triads, or at least was *once* a member? Was he really responsible for the gruesome murder of Rhodes' client?  
  
Was I going to have to find a new instructor?  
  
"Okay," I finally said, aware that Rhodes had been waiting for my reaction. "So that night, when I socked you in the eye. You were waiting for my instructor?"  
  
He nodded excitedly, as though this new development was the best thing that had happened to his case. Well, I guess that was true, if you ignored the fact that a man who may have dismembered someone had been teaching me about pressure points. The irony was not lost on me. "I was so convinced that Hu would be at the White Lotus that night," he remarked, his eyes keen and quick under his dark brows. "But as it turned out, the club owner told me he never showed up. Until now, I had thought the entire night was wasted. Case-wise," he added, remembering our late-night conversation.  
  
"But now," I broke in, understanding his sudden enthusiasm, "we know why he wasn't there that night. He was teaching my class! Rhodes!" I put my hand on his arm, comprehension washing over me like a flood. "This is perfect! I see Thomas all the time. I could help you prove his involvement in Chan's murder!"  
  
*What* was I *saying*!? I could hear the words coming out of my mouth, but they didn't seem like anything I would say. What would possibly compel me to get involved in this perilous case? I was busy enough already with work, and studying under a potentially homicidal massage instructor. I didn't have time to be following Rhodes all over the city as his blindly devoted assistant.  
  
As if in agreement with my inner agruments, Rhodes was shaking his head. "Absolutely out of the question," he said. "The case is almost solved, and I'm not going to risk your safety. I'm not sure I even like the idea of you knowing all the details." He disregarded the glare I gave him. "It's not safe," he insisted.  
  
"Not safe?" I echoed, annoyed. "And having a deranged killer for a teacher *is* safe? If Hu knew I suspected him of anything, I'd probably be next on his list to carve into cutlets. But I just have this bad feeling, Rhodes. Don't try to do this alone. I want to help you." The truly pathetic thing was, I actually meant it.  
  
Despite his disinclination to put me at risk, Rhodes looked so impossibly moved by my offer to help him; that I would *like* him enough to help him. "You do?" he asked softly, staring at me in amazement. Did he really have no one else to ask? If he didn't, then why the hell *not*?  
  
I smiled, wondering what I was diving into. "Just call me Watson," I said weakly.  
  
The look on Rhodes' face was something I'll remember forever. Still holding his umbrella with one hand, he impulsively used his other to pull me into a crushing hug. I laughed for lack of anything else to do, marveling at how such a charming, handsome, intelligent young man could be as starved for affection as he was. As I wrapped my arms around his upper back, I happened to glance at my watch and gasped. "Uh, Rhodes," I said, tapping his shoulder. "I hate to interrupt our insane little bonding moment, but it's four twenty-five. We have five minutes to get to Ghirardelli Square."  
  
If Rhodes were as dorky as me, he would have said something unnecessary like "Yikes" or "Oh, crap". But he wasn't, so he simply released me from his lung-collapsing embrace and took off running. Sighing with something between exasperation and defeat, I hoisted my purse further up on my shoulder and sprinted after him.  
  
Splashing through puddles with an impressive aquatic display, we raced down the wet streets, barely remembering to stop at the crosswalks. Rhodes, recognizing the risk of the wind turning his umbrella inside out, had decided to close it, therefore becoming as drenched as I was. I took grim satisfaction in this.  
  
Finally, out of breath and soaked to the bone, we arrived at the Square, trying unsuccessfully to shake the rain out of our hair. As Rhodes looked around for his client's widow, I pushed the sodden, light brown strands out of my face, which were obstructing my vision. With a sudden "Ah!", my friend pointed to a small figure sitting on a bench, shielded from the torrents by a big, yellow umbrella.  
  
Belatedly remembering he was supposed to look professional, Rhodes opened his umbrella over us once again and formally took my arm. Together we walked to the woman on the bench, and she rose to greet us. "Mrs. Chan, it's very good to see you again," said Rhodes, bowing respectfully.  
  
Returning the bow, Mae-Lin Chan was the utter embodiment of Asian poise and grace. In height and stature, she was a few inches shorter than I was, and admittedly better dressed. I placed her in her mid-forties, but it was hard to tell. Her china-doll face bore very few creases, but in her deep black eyes was a wisdom that would have seemed more fitting in a much older woman.  
  
"Bridges," began Rhodes, gesturing to the delicate figure before us, "this is Mae-Lin Chan. Mrs. Chan, I would like you to meet my partner, Miss Nadia Bridges."  
  
Partner. He actually said it. I couldn't believe he said it. What was more, I was glad that he said it.  
  
Bowing awkwardly, I gave her a courteous smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Chan," I said politely.  
  
"Nice to meet you," she returned. As all three of us sat down on the bench again(eek, wet!), she rested her small hands primly in her lap and spoke to my newly acquired partner. "I suppose I can trust Miss Bridges not to repeat anything I say?" she inquired, more curious than suspicious.  
  
Rhodes nodded, beads of water dripping from his jet-black bangs. "Absolutely. I place the utmost confidence in her, and so can you." Strangely, his statement caused something to tighten in my chest. Why did what Rhodes think of me matter so much? How on earth could someone I had known for only two weeks have such full control over my emotions?  
  
His client merely nodded, satisfied that I wouldn't sell any information she gave me to the Triads. "All right then," she said. "Now, Mr. Rhodes, I want you to know that all that matters is that you find whoever took my Martin away from me, and see that they get what they deserve. Money is of no consequence."  
  
"We feel the same way, Mrs. Chan," he replied, and I was fairly certain that one more fat stack of cash earned for getting his man wouldn't make much difference to my absurdly wealthy friend. "Catching the murderer is all that is important to us. But to do that, we must have your permission to ask you some questions." He looked at her hopefully.  
  
"Of course," she agreed. Rhodes let a small smile escape, which was just a shadow of his full anticipation, before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a slim notebook and a silver pen. He handed both to me, which I took uncertainly.  
  
He observed my expression and clarified. "Would you be so kind as to take notes on this conversation?" he asked pleasantly. I nodded hastily, flipping the notebook open, and he addressed Mrs. Chan once more. "All right, let's begin. Your husband was married once before, correct?"  
  
"Yes, that's correct," she replied.  
  
"And it was this wife that he married in New York City, whereupon he decided to leave, cutting off all contact with the Triads."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Her name was Janet Fong, unless I'm mistaken."  
  
"That's right." My borrowed pen flew across the paper as I struggled to keep up with their dialogue.  
  
"I don't suppose," he said slowly, sounding oddly like a lawyer from the deep South, "that you know how long he was married to her before she died of lung cancer?"  
  
"Let me see," she said, taking a thoughtful pause to my infinite relief. I quickly finished the sentence I was writing beofre she began again. "They were together for only three years before her lungs started to show signs of deterioration. The saddest part was that she never touched a cigarette in her life. It was Martin's smoking that was making her sick. He kept denying it, until finally she had to be hospitalized. She didn't last a month." She shook her head mournfully. "After she died, Martin felt so guilty that he resolved to quit smoking. Two years later, he met me."  
  
I wondered how I would be able to handle something as serious as being unintentionally responsible for causing the death of a loved one. I might briefly consider taking my own life, but I doubt I could do it. That would be taking the coward's way out.  
  
Rhodes' voice was a touch more somber as he asked his next question. "Did your husband ever talk about any of his fellow Triad members? Possibly, members who were his friends?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Chan replied instantly. "He had quite a few friends who were also Triads. He didn't leave New York because he wanted to find a way out. He was just afraid something would happen to Janet. But he was very close to some of his fellow members. There was Teddy Nguyen, and Daniel Lee... Oh, and Thomas Hu."  
  
My head shot up at the mention of my instructor's name. Mrs. Chan stared at me in surprise, and Rhodes shot a warning glance my way. Quickly I thought of an excuse for my strange behavior; albeit an extremely stupid one. "Cold water down my back," I said with a forced chuckle.  
  
Mrs. Chan nodded slowly, while Rhodes cleared his throat to hide a laugh. "Well, where were we?" he resumed.  
  
Dutifully raising pen to paper, I had a question of my own to ask. "Uh, Mrs. Chan, about these friends of your husband. I'm guessing they knew his first wife?"  
  
"Well, not all of them," she answered. "But Janet and Thomas were close friends since childhood. In fact, Martin grew up with both of them, since they all went to the same school." She sighed. "It must have been very hard for Thomas after they moved."  
  
I resisted the urge to snort in disdain. *I'm sure it was,* I thought, quickly jotting down all the important points; which were quite numerous. It was all making sense now. Hu must have been in love with Janet Fong, and was devastated when she married Martin Chan instead of him. No doubt he had planned to exact revenge on Chan, and take Janet for his own, when he discovered that she had slowly been killed by her husband's second-hand smoke.  
  
It was as if the veil of mystery had been lifted. I caught and held Rhodes' glance for an instant, and I knew we were sharing the same thought: We had him.  
  
"I think that will be all for now, but if you think of anything that might be useful for us to know, don't hesitate to call," he said, rising from the bench. I followed suit, noticing regretfully that the back of my skirt was damp. "Thank you so much for braving the rain to meet us, Mrs. Chan. You have been most helpful."  
  
"I'm glad I could help," she replied. "It was nice meeting you, Miss Bridges." After exchanging polite bows, we departed; Mrs. Chan to her high-rise apartment, and the two of us to... go find something to eat. But you can bet we weren't that hungry for Chinese food.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Thomas Hu is as good as ours," I declared, sitting in front of Rhodes' low coffee table with my stockinged feet underneath me. Earlier, we had gone to a nice Italian restaurant for dinner, but we agreed that it would be best not to discuss the case until we went somewhere private. It was either my apartment or his condo. Guess which one we chose?  
  
As Rhodes poured me a cup of oolong tea, I rested my chin on my fist and thought for a moment. "Obviously we know that Hu is the murderer. Why else would he be in San Francisco?" I said, beginning to understand Rhodes' enthusiasm. Slowly but surely, the thrill of detective work was seeping into my marrow. "It's so perfect, Rhodes! It all fits together like a puzzle! Chan marries Hu's sweetheart and leaves the state. Chan kills Hu's sweetheart - not intentionally - by his smoking, so Hu kills Chan. Thus the morbid circle of life is complete," I concluded with a wry smile, raising the cup to my lips. The taste of green tea mingled with other delicate flavors I couldn't quite place.  
  
Throughout my rantings, Rhodes had remained silent, sitting cross-legged on the futon couch and drinking his tea. Now he stared distantly out into space, his face relaxed and contemplative. I was about to get his attention when he spoke up, his low voice soft and thoughtful. "This feels so strange."  
  
I frowned, my teacup halfway to my mouth. "What does?" I asked, lowering it back to the table.  
  
"Hmm?" He looked up sharply, as if just returning from another dimension. "Oh. It's nothing. Never mind. What were you saying?"  
  
"Rhodes!" I threw up my hands in exasperation. "Weren't you listening at all? What's the matter with you?"  
  
He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Many things," he replied and, leaning back and closing his eyes, left me to take the meaning of his remark how I would.  
  
I sighed and took another sip of my tea. "Hey Rhodes, I know I'm a lot stupider than you, but I can still tell when something is bothering one of my friends. You don't have to tell me, but if we're going to be working on this case together, it's not going to be okay for you to keep everything to yourself." I drained the cup and set it down. "I hope you know you can trust me."  
  
"No, I know that, I just..." His eyes remained firmly closed as he spoke. "I've never had anyone to discuss my cases with, much less someone as quick to tie the facts together as you, Bridges. And I've certainly never met anyone who was willing to be my partner. I'm sure you've noticed, I don't have many friends." He gave a minute shrug. "It just... feels strange."  
  
What had happened to this poor man to make him the way he was? Sure, he was proud and arrogant sometimes when it came to his abilities as a detective, and he claimed that he didn't care what others thought of him. But if that were true, why did it mean so much to him that I cared about him?  
  
Rising from the floor, I sat down next to him on the couch. "You want to know something?" I asked him. He opened his eyes and nodded slowly, one eyebrow arched. "Back at Ghirardelli Square, when you introduced me to Mrs. Chan as your partner..." I laughed quietly, shaking my head at my own childishness. "I was so ridiculously happy that I couldn't think. Just the thought of being your partner made me ecstatic beyond words."  
  
Rhodes listened in amazement, as if the idea of anyone being happy to know him was implausible. "I know I was a jerk to you when we first met," I continued, once again feeling that twinge of regret, "but I like you, Rhodes. A lot. And sure, I'm not the smartest person you could find, or the best candidate to be your partner, but if you really want me to, I'd be honored."  
  
A slow smile spread over his features until it became a grin that lit up his pale face. "I really do," he said. He held out his hand, which I took, shaking it formally. And so began the partnership of Rhodes and Bridges. I must say, I concur with the words of my partner on the first day we met:  
  
"It seems that fate, and not coffee, might have been the cause of our little meeting."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Now," said Rhodes, eager to get back to the details of *our* case. "It is clear that your theory is the only one that could be correct." My theory? I didn't think he had been listening. "Thomas Hu, so enraged that Chan's smoking was the cause of Janet's death, decided to give him what he believed he deserved. That would explain the Chinese character for 'revenge' that was carved on the victim's forehead."  
  
"And," I added, "why the victim's body was dismembered so professionally. The murderer would have to be well-learned in anatomy, and we know that massage therapists *have* to learn advanced anatomy in order to get their license."  
  
"Precisely. As you said, it all fits together like a puzzle. The only piece still missing, however, is our proof."  
  
I gaped at him. "Proof? What are you talking about, you crazy boy? It's so blatantly obvious that he's guilty! Anyone can see that!"  
  
"You're exactly right," he replied, unaffected by my outburst. "Any person in their right mind could see that Hu is the murderer, if they had all the facts like we do. Our problem is, we don't have any hard evidence. And we need evidence for an arrest warrant."  
  
"We're not breaking into his house," I said instantly.  
  
Rhodes stared at me with false indignance. "Shame on you, Bridges, I would never stoop to that!" He paused. "Although if I had known earlier that you knew where he lived, I might have been tempted."  
  
"I'm sure," I answered sarcastically. "So, breaking-and-entering and burglary charges out of the question, what do you suggest?"  
  
He thought for a moment, and I could almost hear the gears whirring in his head. "Wait!" he exclaimed. "Hu left a message on your machine telling you that tonight's class was cancelled. Something important must have come up for him to call it off. If we knew he was at his house, we could wait for him to leave and follow him on whatever underhanded exploits he no doubt has planned."  
  
"I like the way you think, my friend," I said. "I'll call him to make sure he's there. If he answers, I'll just think of some lame problem, like I forgot what pages to read in my textbook or something. It would seem too suspicious if I hung up on him."  
  
I began to stand up, but Rhodes stopped me with a hand on my arm. "Before we do anything," he said quietly, "I want to make sure that you realize how dangerous this could get; how dangerous it already *is*."  
  
"Of course," I answered. "I know very well what we're getting into, Rhodes. But Thomas Hu is my massage instructor. All this time I thought he was a nice guy, and now I find out he's a ruthless killer. It's important to *me* that I see him locked up. Still," I hastened to add, "It'd be nice if I had a disguise. If he saw me following him, that would be it."  
  
At this he quirked an eyebrow. "Whoever said that we don't?" My eyes widened, and he rose from the couch and left the living room, heading for the foyer. Still wondering what in heaven's name I had gotten myself into, I hurriedly followed him up the stairs to the second floor. As I climbed each step, four words were running through my head that I never would have expected.  
  
*God, this is fun.*  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: My, how the writing muse has seized me! Hoo man, was this a fun chapter to write. But see how I did that? The first few chapters had no mystery at all, and now I've heaped it all on top of you at once. I tend to do that. Oh, and those of you who are wondering what the deal is with Rhodes' sister, wait no longer! ...Well, just a little longer. Because all will be revealed in the next chapter! And in the meantime, I hope you liked this one. It's one of my personal favorites so far. And I know March Hare liked that little line of Bridges' I put in there: "Just call me Watson." Anyway, leave your reviews, and following Hare's idea, I'll give a cookie to the first person who guesses what happened to Rhodes' sister. You don't count, Hare, you already know! But here's a cookie anyway for helping me. Heck, here's a whole truckload of cookies!  
  
Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	7. Green Eyes

A/N: As promised by my refusal to go away, here is chapter seven! *dramatic fanfare* The chapter at least some of you have been waiting for, in which Rhodes' past - well, a lot of it - is revealed. Mavelle, your guess was partially right, so here's a cookie! *bestows upon you a cookie loaded with chocolate* But as for which part, you'll have to read on and find out. Oh, and I've noticed that some of you are having trouble imagining the southern accent. I can understand that, since every time someone makes a modern Holmes, he's always a Brit! Sorry I decided to be all different and weird, but if you're having difficulty imagining Rhodes' voice, just think Matthew MacConaughey, only more refined. All righty! I won't waste your time with an unnecessary amount of talk, so here's the latest chapter! Onward!  
  
Disclaimer: Though my characters are original, my ideas are so utterly, completely not. You'll have to take your plot complaints up with Sir Doyle.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Seven: Green Eyes  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Green eyes  
You're the one that I wanted to find  
And anyone who tried to deny you  
Must be out of their mind  
'Cause I came here with a load  
And it feels so much lighter since I met you  
Honey, you should know  
That I could never go on without you  
Green eyes  
  
"Green Eyes" - Coldplay  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
One thing you should probably know about Ethan Rhodes is that he is a very inconsistent decorator. While the living room in his posh condo had a distinct Japanese feel to it, the kitchen was definitely Italian in design, from the grape vines etched on the wine rack to the copper pans hanging over the island counter. The spare bedroom, in which he showcased his various and completely unrelated interests - it contained a snowboard, a weight bench, and collection of model sailing ships, to name a few - had a very modern theme. But most unexpected of all was his own bedroom.  
  
In the short time that I had known Rhodes, he had never invited me to see his bedroom. Not that there was any reason why he should feel compelled to, but I was always curious to know what it looked like. As I followed him to the end of the upstairs hallway, I prepared myself for a first-rate example in interior design. He opened the door, and my first thought was, *He must be insane.*  
  
As elegant and classy as the rest of his condo was, the place he laid his head every night was decidedly much shabbier. As I looked around, trying to hide my distaste, I was taken aback by the complete lack of style and space it displayed. His scarred oak bed was much too large for the room, and walls had been - intentionally, it seemed - painted an unfathomably ugly shade of powder blue that clashed with the rest of the decor; if decor it could be called.  
  
Yet somehow I felt as if I had seen it before. As I wracked my brain trying to figure out why it seemed so familiar, I gasped in sudden recognition. Except for a few minor details, such as an acoustic guitar, a small stereo, and a rack of cds, it was modeled almost flawlessly after the Vincent Van Gogh oil painting, 'Bedroom in Arles'. It was literally like stepping into Van Gogh's own bedroom. It was mildly unsettling, and indescribably cool.  
  
"Oh my God," I breathed in amazement, unable to think of anything else to say.  
  
Rhodes smiled. "Yes, that's been the general reaction," he said with obvious pride.  
  
Nodding in agreement, I was vaguely aware that my friend pulled me the rest of the way into the Van Gogh room. As he went to the closet door, painted a darker shade of blue, I sat on the enormous bed, taking in every detail. If our time hadn't been so pressed, I believe I would have sat there for hours.  
  
"How did you do this?" I asked as he began pulling clothes out of his closet that no young man has any business owning. White laboratory coats and fur-lined boots were soon flying through the air.  
  
He shrugged, throwing a long red shawl over his shoulder. "When I moved in, I immediately noticed that the layout of this bedroom coincided precisely with the room Van Gogh had in Arles. It cost surprisingly little to imitate. The room had no carpet to begin with, and the window frame wasn't hard to replace. The bed was probably the most expensive purchase."  
  
"Well," I remarked, "it's incredible." Everything was exactly where it should be, right down to the coat pegs on the wall behind the giant bed's headboard.  
  
Looking through the assortment of cds, I was about to inform Rhodes that we both had the same Coldplay album when he pulled out one of the small wooden chairs and beckoned for me to sit on it. I dutifully obeyed, wondering what he would transform me into, and in answer he produced a wig of short, wavy red hair. What sort of detective work he had to do which would require such a disguise I didn't really want to know. "I hate to break it to you, Rhodes, but I'm not Irish enough to pull off red hair," I said dubiously.  
  
"Trust me, it will work," he assured me. "Besides, if we're lucky, Hu won't even see us close enough to doubt your natural roots."  
  
I laughed, and he stood behind me with a brush and began combing my hair back from my face. As I marveled at how gentle he was, I couldn't help but wonder why the situation wasn't at all uncomfortable. It was as if we had known each other forever. "By the way," I had to ask, "what made you suspect Hu in the first place?"  
  
He ran the brush through the sensitive hair at the back of my neck like a professional hair stylist. "To be completely truthful, I had already done some sleuthing to find out who Chan's fellow Triad members were, and came up with the same names his wife gave us. Thomas Hu, Teddy Nguyen, Daniel Lee, and a few others. So of course, they were my primary suspects. But Hu was the only one that had left New York, and somehow he had ended up in San Francisco as well. Highly suggestive," he added, pulling my hair into a tight ponytail and pinned it securely to my head.  
  
"Yes, highly," I agreed. He picked up the wig and fitted it firmly over my hair, and as he rearranged the bangs with an amusing fussiness, I fought the urge to scratch. "So when you asked Mrs. Chan who her husband's old friends were, you already knew."  
  
"Right." He knelt in front of me, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized my disguise. "Still a bit too Bridgesy," he decided. From his closet he pulled out a small box, which was revealed to contain a large variety of different pairs of glasses. He selected a pair of Buddy Holly-style frames that were nerdy and fashionable at the same time. He placed them over my eyes, and through the thick but deceptively non-prescription lenses, I saw him grin. "Much better."  
  
I stood up and looked in the small mirror next to the window. I was shocked by how so few changes could completely alter my appearance. The young woman staring back at me certainly looked twenty-two, and she had the same hazel eyes as me. But *this* young woman, with her fiery red locks and stylish specs, appeared far more glamorous than I was. I briefly considered asking Rhodes if I could wear the disguise permanently.  
  
Belatedly I noticed that he was awaiting my approval. I turned to him and grinned, running a hand through my new do. "Just call me Maggie O'Flannigan," I declared with a bad Irish accent.  
  
He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Calm down now, 'Maggie', you still need different clothes than the ones you're wearing. Although I rather like your taste in dress, Hu knows your preferences as well. You can't expect to pass for someone else with glasses and a wig."  
  
His reasoning seemed logical, so I meandered around aimlessly in the Van Gogh room as Rhodes searched for some attire more appropriate for Maggie O'Flannigan than Nadia Bridges. As my eyes wandered, I suddenly noticed an article that looked more out of place than the three-disc stereo on the little desk. On the wooden chair that my backside had not occupied sat an large, light brown teddy bear that looked like it had seen many years. Curious, I bent down to examine it more closely, but I was hesitant to pick it up. It was very old and worn, and had a popped seam in the arm, along with other areas that desperately needed repair.  
  
"Hey Rhodes," I said, gently lifting the bear's precariously attached arm. "I'm no Susie Homemaker, but back on the farm I had to repair a lot of clothes. I could fix this bear up for you, if you like."  
  
His back stiffened where he knelt in front of the closet. "No, that's all right," he replied, his voice tight.  
  
I frowned slightly at his sudden change in behavior. Still, I could understand if it had sentimental value; even though Rhodes didn't seem the sentimental type. "Okay," I said, shrugging. "It's cute. Where'd you get it?"  
  
When he turned to look at me, I knew the answer before he spoke. The grief and loss on his face told me far more than words. Whoops. Way to bring up painful, unwanted memories, you stupid girl. You sure you weren't born blonde? "Oh," I blurted, hastily dropping the wool-stuffed arm. A little hesitant, I removed my glasses, went over to the closet, and sat down next to him on the hard floor. "I'm so sorry, Rhodes," I said quietly, placing my hand on his arm.  
  
He gave his head a violent shake, his hair falling into his eyes. "No, Bridges, don't apologize," he said quickly. "I suppose I should be used to people asking about her, but..." He trailed off, and his eyes squeezed shut. When he spoke, his voice was constricted. "I just can't."  
  
Whether he wanted comfort or not, it was clear that he *needed* it. Slowly, I removed my hand from his arm and placed it over his thin, white hand where it rested on his knee. He didn't open his eyes, but his hand slipped into mine, grasping it as tightly as it would if it were holding on to a life preserver. I tried to hold it in for as long as I could, but eventually it just came out: "What happened to her, Rhodes?"  
  
Finally he opened his eyes. They were shining with unshed tears. "I can't tell you," he whispered.  
  
I matched the pressure of the squeeze his hand gave me. "Why not?"  
  
"Because you won't like what you hear." His tone was fragile; almost pleading. *Please, Bridges, please don't make me tell you,* his green eyes begged.  
  
As heart-wrenching as those eyes were, they couldn't shake my resolve. "Rhodes," I said softly. "It's not good for you to keep all this pain shut up inside you. When I told you what had happened to my father, it felt like this huge weight was lifted off me. It can be like that for you, too. You don't have to hold this burden by yourself. I can share it with you." I reached out my other hand and enveloped his in both of mine. "You're not alone anymore, Rhodes. Don't act like you are."  
  
We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then he took a deep, shaky breath. "You say I'm not alone," he said bitterly, "but after tonight I will be." As I tried to decipher what this meant, he heaved a sigh. "We don't really have time for this, but all right. You win. I can't really tell you about my sister, though, until you know more about my family.  
  
"I suppose you could say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. My father, Eugene Bertram Rhodes, was a successful doctor; just like his father, and so on for four generations. He had lived in Savannah, Georgia his entire life, and that's where he met my mother, Regina Wheeler. She also came from a family of aristocrats, so you can imagine how thrilled the upper-class community was when they were married.  
  
"They were together for quite a while before they decided to have children. They tried in vain, but it was harder than they had planned. After three miscarriages, they were ready to give up when they finally had me. They were so thrilled that they chose the most boastful name they could: Ethan Nicholas. It means something like 'strong and victorious'; but I can't remember anymore, and I certainly don't agree. Naturally I was pampered to death, because at last they had a child to spoil, until four years later my mother gave birth to a daughter."  
  
I could see where this was going. Little Ethan was the apple of his parents' eye, until the new baby came along and stole all of his attention. A story as old as time, and thankfully one I had never had to tell myself. Sometimes I loved being an only child.  
  
"Alice Maurine," said Rhodes. "That's what they named her, and a better name would have been impossible to find. She had blonde hair, blue eyes; every bit the spitting image of Lewis Carroll's character of the same name. But my mother died giving birth to her. The doctors said she should never have gotten pregnant again, considering how hard her pregnancy with me was. My father vowed to bring up Alice, his little angel, in a way that would make his wife proud. You can guess where that left me.  
  
"The little affection I *did* receive was lessened considerably when I decided I wanted to become a detective. I was only eleven at the time, and my father was furious at me for even thinking of abandoning the family practice. He told me I was too young to know what I wanted. But as I got older, and my wishes didn't change, my father eventually came to regard me as a disappointment to the Rhodes legacy."  
  
Why do people try to live through their offspring? Parents always warn their children about peer pressure, but they never have any preparation when they receive it in the home. Suppressing a sigh of irritation, I gave Rhodes' hand a comforting squeeze.  
  
He didn't seem to notice, so immersed was he in his narrative. "As for Alice," he said quietly, refusing to look in my eyes, "I couldn't stand her. She was sweet, and beautiful, and basically perfect in every way you could imagine. And my father adored her. Because of that, I ignored her in the same way Father ignored me. But for some reason, she worshiped the ground I walked on. I never understood that." He shut his eyes tightly. "I was a terrible brother.  
  
"One August, a month before I turned eighteen, my friends invited me to the state fair. Father told me that I couldn't go unless I brought Alice along with me. I was angry, but those were the conditions. So I took her. But I refused to pay any attention to her. The only time I even acknowledged her presence when I won a prize at a carnival game that I didn't want, and I gave it to her."  
  
"The bear," I guessed.  
  
He nodded, his eyes still closed. "She was so happy, Bridges," he whispered miserably. "So thrilled that her big brother won a present for her. But if she hadn't been there, I would have thrown it away." Choking back a sob, he pulled his hand out of mine and covered his face with it.  
  
At this point I didn't know what to do. Rhodes was obviously in a serious amount of pain, but there was nothing I could say or do that could make him feel better. I didn't even know the whole story, and I could only guess where it was going. I sincerely hoped I was wrong.  
  
After an excruciatingly long pause, Rhodes continued, his hand resting on the side of his face. "We all walked around for a while, until finally we got to the haunted house. You know how those are; they're not frightening in the least, but no one will go in unless everyone dares each other. Alice, of course, was too scared. She was only fourteen, after all. My friends wanted to go, and I was too impatient to wait outside with her, so I told her to wait by the entrance until we came back."  
  
Though I knew full well what was coming next, I willed myself to be mistaken. My guess, to my horror, proved true when he spoke again. "That was the last time I ever saw her."  
  
My eyes slid shut. "Oh God, Rhodes," I whispered.  
  
"When we came out, there was her bear on the ground, but no Alice. When we discovered she was missing, I panicked. I couldn't move, I couldn't even think." He drew in a shuddery breath. "Don't think I ever hated her, Bridges. She irritated me, but I still loved her. She was my sister.  
  
"When I finally got my senses back, I tried to use my observational skills to find out where she had gone. But I was still a novice detective, and all I could conclude from the place where she had been was that there were signs of struggle. Scuff marks on the ground, a trash bin knocked over. And of course, the bear. She had been taken against her will."  
  
I found myself blinking back tears. I had no younger siblings - no siblings, period - but I could only imagine how detrimental losing a little brother or sister could be. And Ethan Rhodes was living proof of what it did to a person.  
  
"I..." He faltered, then tried again. "I made my friends help me search the entire fairground. We covered every square inch of that place, and asked everyone if they had seen her, but she... It was like she had disappeared. She was just gone. And when I finally came home with the news, my father erupted. He accused me of being negligent, which was true."  
  
At last he opened his eyes and met my gaze. His eyes were a beautiful bright green. And filled with a torture he would never be rid of.  
  
"Bridges," he said weakly. "He told me I might as well have killed her. I was responsible, and I couldn't refute the charges."  
  
I almost told him that his father was wrong, that it hadn't been his fault. But I couldn't lie to him. Instead, I asked, "What did you do?"  
  
"What else could I do?" he returned sourly. "My mother was dead, my sister presumably so, and my father despised me. There was nothing left for me in Georgia. So the day I turned eighteen, I left. I took Alice's bear and left, and I didn't stop until I was as far away from everything that was my old life as I could. Somehow I ended up here. I held down a job long enough to establish myself as a detective, and I heard no news of my father until I was twenty."  
  
I blinked. "He called you?"  
  
"No." He shook his head wearily. "He was dead, of a heart attack. He had been almost forty when I was born, and he suffered from high blood pressure." He scoffed. "He was a doctor, and he didn't even listen to his associates' advice to stay away from heavy food.  
  
"For some reason, he never changed his will, and the Rhodes estate was inherited by the only living Rhodes: me. Of course, I couldn't go back to Savannah. And I had no desire to see that house ever again. So I hired a real estate agent and sold it."  
  
I nodded numbly. At least now I knew where he got his seemingly endless amount of money. With the wealth that had been passed on to him, along with the money from selling the family estate, he would be set for life.  
  
Rhodes had closed his eyes again, as if he were too ashamed to look at me. "When I was with you on the pier, and you pointed out that young girl... For one brief, ridiculous moment I thought it was Alice; little Alice in Wonderland, my father called her. But of course it couldn't possibly have been her. If she *was* alive, she would have to be twenty by now." He ran a hand through his unruly black hair. "But she's not. There's no way she could be alive."  
  
I couldn't argue with him. People rarely went missing for six years and then just resurfaced, like nothing happened. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I raised my hand and turned his head to face me. His eyes remained stubbornly shut, but I waited patiently, my hand on his cheek, until he opened them. He stared at me for a while with those haunted eyes, until finally he spoke.  
  
"So," he murmured, his voice sad and tired. "Do you hate me?"  
  
Tears spilled down my cheeks at his words. Everything his father had told him, and everything he no doubt told himself every day was true. He was responsible for his sister's death. If he hadn't left her, she would still be alive. I was unable to deny any of it, but Rhodes had suffered long enough. He was a broken man; alone for years with his grief, with no one close enough to him to tell. Naturally, he just expected me to be so disgusted with him that I would never want to see him again.  
  
Oh, how I would prove him wrong.  
  
"No," I whispered, shaking my head fiercely. He looked almost surprised at my answer as I stroked his smooth cheek. "No, I don't hate you, Rhodes. How could I hate you? You trusted me enough to let me into your life. And you risked everything to tell me your past, just because I asked you to. You're a sweet, amazing man, and when I look in your eyes I can't understand why anyone would hate you."  
  
Fresh tears escaped those endless green eyes, and he blinked rapidly to dispel them. They clung to his dark lashes like beads of glass. Slowly, I pulled him into an embrace, and he rested his chin on my shoulder. My vision blurred again as I pressed my hand to the back of his neck. I was aware of the time, and of how little we had left before Thomas Hu left his apartment, but right now Rhodes held far more precedence.  
  
"You know," I said as he tightened his hold on me, "in a perfect world, nothing bad would ever happen. In a perfect world, your mother and father would be alive, and Alice would still be with you. My mother wouldn't have died, and my father would be able to walk. There wouldn't be any murders, and nobody would have to lock their doors at night. No one would get old or sick."  
  
"In a perfect world," Rhodes commented, "I would be out of a job."  
  
I smiled. "So would I," I replied. "But as it is, we have to take things the way we get them. And it's up to us whether or not we let this flawed, corrupt, imperfect world drag us down. But I can tell you one thing."  
  
He pulled away just enough to meet my eyes. "What?" he said softly.  
  
"In a perfect world, we would still be friends. With names as ludicrous as Rhodes and Bridges, we were destined to meet."  
  
Rhodes let out a laugh, and I could tell it had escaped against his will. He reached up and brushed aside my false red curls. "Where were you six years ago?" he asked.  
  
"Taking orders at Red Lobster."  
  
He laughed again, and I wanted to squeeze him and never let him go. It was only a matter of time, however, before Hu would leave his apartment and do whatever he felt was more important than his massage class. And we had to be there before he left.  
  
Rhodes stood up and pulled me to my feet, placing the Buddy Holly glasses in my hand again. Shoving a bundle of clothes into my arms, he told me to go into the spare bedroom and change. To my supreme displeasure, the ensemble that had been chosen for me consisted of a floral skirt that was too long, a white button-up sweater that needed to be rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of white heels that were far too big for my absurd little pixie feet. Once again, I had to wonder what kind of case would require Rhodes to cross-dress, but I decided I really didn't want to know.  
  
Hoping I wouldn't trip and break an ankle, I returned the glasses to my nose and walked back to Rhodes' Van Gogh room on unsteady feet. As I leaned against the doorframe, I shot a bashful smile at him and fluttered my eyelashes coquettishly. "How do I look?" I asked, awaiting his approval.  
  
The corners of his lips turned up. "Exquisite."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: *dies*  
  
No, seriously. Um, let's see, some author's notes. Oh, I can't think of anything to say! It's two-thirty in the morning, and I'm just thrilled that I finished this chapter and lived. Before I go, I don't own Coldplay, though they're one of my favorite bands, and I don't own "Green Eyes", though it's one of my favorite songs.  
  
Oh, one more thing! To all of March Hare's readers, I just talked to her, and she said she's moving to a different house and won't be able to update her story for a while. Don't blame me! *hides behind Hare* Take the one who wronged you! And now, I'm going to bed before I pass out on top of the keyboard. Just review and tell me what you thought. Do you still like Rhodes, now that you know what happened? I do. And I love his room.  
  
Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	8. A Fearful Fiend

A/N: Well, chapter eight is finally here, and sorry it took so long! I'm glad no one threw tomatoes at Rhodes for being a lousy brother in his teenage years. I think it's safe to say he's suffered enough. Be prepared for some suspense in this chapter, because they're *finally* going after Hu! Took long enough, didn't it? I know, I'd be impatient if I were you. Again, I am sorry I made you wait. I always jinx myself, saying I'll post the next chapter real soon! Har har. I should stop telling people that. To make it up to you, here it is!  
  
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure it's been established that the idea for this story is not mine, but belongs to Conan Doyle; though the characters are indeed of my creation.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Eight: A Fearful Fiend  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Rhodes, if I fall and break my leg in these damned shoes, I'm going to sue you for reckless endangerment," I growled as I followed my friend out the door and down the steps of his condominium. My skirt, which was far more feminine than anything I ever wore, was too long, and I had to pull it up as I scrambled down the concrete steps. If I were a man, I would have felt like Tootsie in my ridiculous disguise.  
  
Despite my growing attachment to Rhodes as I got to know him better, I still became quickly annoyed at him as he strode down the sidewalk, swiftly outpacing me and not caring a whit. "Will you please slow down?" I called to him, my tone much less polite than my words. "It's bad enough that I have to walk in these four-inch heels *without* you power-walking down the street on your stupid Big Bird legs!"  
  
Rhodes turned abruptly, the corner of his mouth raised in amusement. "I'm sorry, Bridges," he said as I caught up with him. "I keep forgetting that you're much smaller in size than I am."  
  
"No," I corrected him, hoisting up my skirt again. "You keep forgetting that I'm a shrimpy little tomboy who can't walk in stilettos."  
  
He thought about this for a moment. "I wouldn't have phrased it that way," he said slowly. Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's imperative that we get to Hu's apartment before he leaves, and that is why we need to hurry. If you're having trouble, hold on to my arm."  
  
And so we walked quickly down the sidewalk together, arm in arm, as the daylight faded and the streetlamps came on one by one. Though Rhodes didn't know where my instuctor lived and therefore I was leading the way, I felt almost reluctant to go on. If something happened and one of us was injured, I didn't see how we could get away safely. One thing was certain: never in a million years could I carry Rhodes.  
  
I quickly shook those thoughts out of my head. Now was definitely not the time to get cold feet. Instead, my mind drifted back to the puzzling conversation I had had with Thomas Hu over the phone before we left, and the enlightening conversation I had had with Ethan Rhodes after I had hung up.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Picking up the cordless phone in the living room, I dialed Hu's number and signaled to Rhodes to stay quiet. It rang uninterrupted at least five times, and I began to think, to my dismay, that he was already gone. I frowned at Rhodes, and he looked back at me in askance. "He's not answering," I whispered, and his shoulders slumped visibly.  
  
The phone contonued to ring, and I was about to hang up when an impatient voice came through: "Yes? Hello, yes? What is it?"  
  
It was Hu, all right. I gave Rhodes a thumbs-up and said, "Hi, Thomas? This is Nadia Bridges, from class."  
  
"Oh... Hello, Nadia." He sounded distracted, and was doing a pretty lousy job hiding his irritation, if you ask me. "I-is something wr-- um, something the matter? You *did* get my, uh... my message, didn't you?"  
  
I felt my nose scrunch up. I didn't know Thomas Hu very well, but I knew he never stuttered. He sounded like he was taking a lie detector test, and was failing miserably. "Yes, I did," I replied airily, leaning against the back of the futon couch. I noticed Rhodes staring at me with a raised eyebrow. "I know there's no class tonight, but I just had a slight problem. It's nothing important, really. I just forgot what pages we were supposed to read in the textbook." I let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Pretty dumb, huh?"  
  
A small silence followed, perhaps during which he was contemplating whether or not he believed my story. Or whether or not I had lost my mind. "Uh, yes," he finally said. "I, I mean *no*, of course not. It's uh, its... 330 through 347, in lesson nine."  
  
"Oookay, lesson nine," I confirmed, pretending to write it down in the air with an invisible pen. This time both of Rhodes' eyebrows reached for his hairline. "Thank you so much, Thomas, and have a great night." Before he could sputter out a badly pasted-together goodbye, I hit the 'end' button and set the phone back in its cradle. "Well, whether or not he's a cold-blooded killer still remains to be proven," I said to Rhodes. "But one thing's for sure: he thinks I'm dumb."  
  
His mouth dropped open in feigned horror. "I can't imagine what might have given him that impression."  
  
"Hey." I waved a fist at him. "Don't make me give you another black eye."  
  
He merely smiled, and I turned to the front door when his voice stopped me. "Nadia." I looked over my shoulder at him in surprise. Rhodes addressing me by my first name twice in one day? This was an unprecedented event that must be documented. "Thank you," he said softly.  
  
My eyebrows knitted in confusion. "For giving you a black eye?" I asked dubiously.  
  
His eyes rolled back into his head in frustration. "No, not for giving me a black eye," he said exasperatedly. He stepped forward and took my hand in his. "For being at the coffee house at the precise moment I was. For not running away screaming when I tried to talk to you." I smiled, and he added, "Don't think I didn't know you wanted to. I *am* a detective, after all." He stared down at my fingers for a short while, and I wondered what he was thinking. "And... for knowing all my faults, and still wanting to be with me."  
  
For being so full of himself in public, he certainly didn't have much self-esteem. "Rhodes..." I shook my head, frowning up at him. "You don't have to thank me. That's exactly what friends are for. And if you think that... that what you told me tonight changes anything between us, then you're wrong. I'm still here for you."  
  
I believe Rhodes made an effort to speak, but nothing came out. I understood, and I gave his hand a tight squeeze before releasing it. "Come on, let's go," I suggested. He nodded, brushing silently past me out the door.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Walking alongside him, my arm in his to keep me from taking a humiliating pratfall, a realization that I had been trying to avoid finally hit me: Rhodes needed me. For the majority of his life, he had been starved for attention and lacking in love. And now, after years of being utterly alone, he had someone; he had me. He didn't want to admit it - and maybe he never would - but he desperately needed me to care for him, to be there for him. If I ever decided to leave, it would devastate him.  
  
He was almost dependent on me.  
  
The thought was a daunting one. Could I really handle such a responsibility? I had taken care of my father when there hadn't been enough money for a physical therapist, but that was different. My father was emotionally strong. Beneath the arrogant, cheeky exterior, Rhodes had a very fragile psyche; one that may never fully heal. Such a commitment to someone was lifelong. Did I even have any business taking on a task like that?  
  
I sighed softly, knowing the answer to my question even before I asked it. Rhodes had already taken me into his confidence. For the second time that night, it was too late for getting cold feet.  
  
"Bridges?"  
  
My head jerked up quickly, and Rhodes looked at me with concern. "Are you all right?" he asked.  
  
Despite the gravity of my thoughts, I felt myself smile. "Yeah, I'm good." Reminding myself to pay more attention to my surroundings, I realized we were only a block from Hu's apartment building. "Look alive, Rhodes," I said, walking with a new determination, "we've almost reached the rat hole."  
  
The term "rat hole" was, of course, not at all accurate. Hu's apartment building was every bit as posh as Rhodes' complex, but unlike the buildings where the detective lived, which seemed like they had been there since the city was founded and therefore belonged there, Hu's apartment was out of place in the middle of the block. It was much more modern in design than the other buildings; a steel-and-concrete monster among a village of brick. It stood out like a suited business man at a 4-H meeting.  
  
Rhodes looked at the apartment building appraisingly. "It appears someone has done well for himself," he noted dryly. Examining the face of it, he observed, "Well, the only exit is in the front right here, so if Hu comes out we'll definitely know it."  
  
"If he hasn't left already," I reminded him.   
  
He smiled and shook his head. "Must you be so negative, Bridges? We'll wait here at the corner of the block by this hedge. If he doesn't come out in--" He consulted his watch to check the current time. "--an hour at the most, it's safe to say we missed him."  
  
*An hour!?* I thought, staggered. *We're supposed to wait out here in the cold for an hour?* Suppressing a sigh of irritation, I told myself to be patient. Detective work wasn't like it was in the movies, with car chases and explosions and arch enemies with British accents. It could be long, tedious work, and I was going to have to get used to it.  
  
Letting go of Rhodes' arm, I crossed both of mine over my chest and settled it for the wait. A fog was coming in from the bay, and I had to take off my spectacles for a brief moment to wipe away the condensation. For a moment I was reminded of "The Hound of the Baskervilles", which I read in high school. The mental image of Holmes, Watson, and Lestrade waiting outside that devil Stapleton's house as the fog settled on the moor would have given me a chill of excitement if my current situation had not been so mind-numbingly dull.  
  
"Rhodes," I said, my voice sounding loud after the silence, "did you ever read any of the Sherlock Holmes stories?"  
  
He gave me a strange expression, and I figured he was wondering where on earth that question came from. "A few of them," he replied, returning his gaze to the entrance to Hu's building. "Mostly the novels, like 'A Study in Scarlet' and 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'. I haven't read many of the short stories. Why?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. I guess because - well, sometimes - you remind me of him." I smothered a grin as his head whipped around to stare at me in surprise. "What, are you offended?" I asked.  
  
Rhodes let out a short bark of laughter. "Offended? No, no! I would say 'shocked' is a more appropriate word." He rubbed his hands together to warm them. "What is it about me that reminds you of him?"  
  
I shrugged, hugging my arms closer to myself. It was really getting chilly. "A lot of things, actually; some more obvious than others. Like, for instance, you're both detectives." He nodded, his raven's-wing hair falling into his face and calling to mind another resemblance to the Great Detective. "You're both tall and skinny, and you both have black hair. And you have the same hands," I added.  
  
"Thank the heavens I don't wear a deerstalker," he remarked. I laughed, and he cocked his head at me. "All right, I see how you might notice some similarities. But I assume you're talking about more than physical appearances."  
  
"You assume right." I thought for a moment. "Well, for one thing, you were extremely arrogant when I first met you, and God knows Holmes has quite the inflated ego."  
  
"Indeed?"  
  
"Yes, 'indeed'. And there's another: you both talk the same. If you were from England instead of the South, I wouldn't be able to tell you apart." I smiled as I remembered our first weekend together at the Pier. "And you both can deduce things about people just from looking at them. That is a rare gift, you know."  
  
I couldn't tell you with confidence if it was the cold or my praise that made Rhodes' cheeks turn slightly pink, but I'm inclined to believe the latter. "It's not so difficult, really," he countered, looking back at the apartment building. Suddenly he grinned mischievously. "I might even go as far as saying, it's quite elementary, my dear Bridges."  
  
I groaned wearily as he basked in the enjoyment of his own joke. I was never going to live this down. "You know, Holmes never even said that," I muttered. He merely smiled contentedly, and I checked my watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed.  
  
It was going to be a long night.  
  
The seconds flew by like, well, minutes as we waited for Hu to leave his building, and my patience was quickly wearing thin. Even Rhodes was beginning to show signs of restlessness, pulling his hand out of his coat pocket every two minutes to consult his Bulova watch. I wanted to ring the buzzer to Hu's apartment and run.  
  
At eight-forty I heard a bizarre noise which startled me at first, until I realized with a sort of detached comprehension that the sound was my own teeth chattering. Rhodes' eyes widened at me, and in an instant he had taken off his elegantly tailored jacket and draped it around my shoulders. "I'm sorry, Bridges," he said, sounding truly apologetic. "I don't know why we're still here; Hu probably left before we even got here. Let's just forget it and go home where it's warm."  
  
I sighed. "You're probably right," I agreed. "But here, take your coat back before you freeze to death." But even as I began to shrug out of it, his cold hand clamped over my mouth and pulled me into the darkness away from the street lamps. I glanced up at him, and I knew by his drawn eyebrows that Hu had emerged from the building. Sure enough, even from our place of hiding I could see my massage instructor's small, wiry form step out onto the sidewalk. He looked around suspiciously and, assuming he was alone, made his way down the street in the opposite direction.  
  
Slowly Rhodes removed his hand from my mouth and stepped away. He looked down at me for confirmation, and I nodded.  
  
The hunt was on.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
We followed in near-silence, my heels clicking softly on the concrete sidewalk. Luckily we were at a safe distance, far enough to be sure we wouldn't be heard. I wobbled very little, which surprised me; I owned three pairs of tall shoes, but their heels covered much more ground area than the ones I wore now. I was quite sure that we looked somewhat odd to the other pedestrians out walking that night - an awkward redhead in the arm of a lanky young man with no jacket on. In any case, if I fell, I knew Rhodes was going down with me.  
  
As we pursued our prey, I observed that although we had turned quite a few corners, our wanderings had a clear purpose. Hu's destination was somewhere near Fisherman's Wharf. I could already smell the salty air, and in fact, as we drew closer, I could just see the tall masts of the various sailing ships that were moored at the docks every night. I wondered what pressing business Hu could possibly have at the Wharf.  
  
Peering around the side of a fish market, which, although it had closed its doors at six, still reeked horribly, we watched Hu start resolutely down one of the long, narrow ramps that led to the boat docks. I frowned up at Rhodes, as if he had any idea why Hu would come here, but he just shrugged.  
  
Waiting just long enough to ensure our quarry wouldn't see us, we made our way down the same ramp and onto the damp wooden docks. It was a clear night, and the silver moon's reflection was distorted on the rippling surface of the black water. Some of the windows of the moored boats were lit, but they were the only sign that we weren't the only humans out there.  
  
The dock was slippery to a dangerous degree, and after a while I was forced to stop and remove my shoes. My feet instantly disliked the idea as they touched the cold, damp wood. I didn't know what to do with the shoes once they were off, but with a swift, impatient move, Rhodes took them from my indecisive hands and threw them over the side of the dock. They hit the water with a soft ~plunk!~  
  
I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, but he was looking around intently. "Where did he go?" he whispered.  
  
Puzzled, I turned around. The docks were a complex layout, with many turns branching off in different directions. If we had lost sight of Hu, he could be anywhere.  
  
"I don't know," I whispered back, transferring my weight from one foot to the other. "Let's just keep going. We'll probably find him soon."  
  
But as we continued, I got that strange, hard-to-ignore feeling that we were being followed. I kept glancing over my shoulder, absolutely certain that Hu would emerge from the shadows. Rhodes noticed my uneasiness. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Most likely nothing," I replied. "You'll probably think it's woman's intuition or something, but it feels like we've becomes the hunted instead of the hunters."  
  
"You mean, you think we're being followed?"  
  
I nodded. "But like I said, it's probably nothing. Just a weird feeling. 'Like one that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread', and all that."  
  
"'And having once turned round walks on, and turns no more his head.'"  
  
I blinked up at him, surprised. "'Because he knows a fearful fiend doth close behind him tread'," we finished in whispered unison. I shook my head, a chill running down my back. "Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'. We have way too much in common."  
  
"It seems very fitting in this situation," he said darkly. "Unsettlingly so."  
  
Shivering again, I asked, "So you believe me?"  
  
He glanced at the surrounding darkness again, his wary expression clear even in the dim light. "I learned a long time ago not to disregard something as seemingly insignificant as a hunch," he finally said. "Sometimes your gut instincts are what can save you from a potentially fatal situation." He turned to me. "That's one thing to remember, Bridges. *Never* ignore a hunch."  
  
"That's good advice, Mr. Rhodes," a sudden voice behind us said, startlingly loud after all our whispering. "Useless now, of course."  
  
I spun around to see Thomas Hu standing directly in front of us, a pistol gleaming dully in his right hand. It was shaking with rage. Involuntarily, I took a step backward and collided with Rhodes' chest. He placed a protective hand on my shoulder.  
  
"I knew it was you, Nadia," Hu said, shaking his head bitterly. "From the beginning, I knew it was you. I just didn't want to be right."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: I know, cliffhanger. Don't kill me. And if you must throw vegetables, please don't throw anything hard or pointy, like celery or asparagus. And especially no pumpkins. If I don't survive your enraged produce-pummeling, how do you expect me to write the next chapter? *sigh* Anyway, I hope this one lived up to your expectations. Did you like our heroes' conversation about Sherlock Holmes? I thought it would be fun. After all, he's the reason I even wrote this story! So leave a review, and if I'm alive, I'll get to work on chapter nine, in which we hear Hu's side of the story!  
  
Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	9. For Us to Decide

A/N: Sorry about my last chapter's cliffie, everyone. But I have chapter nine all ready to go, so no harm done, right? ...Right!? I know, it was still inexcusable. Before we start, I'd like to reply to some of your reviews. Emphasis on the word "some", because there were so many! Thank you!  
  
jepa: What a coincidence! You like Coleridge too? He's my second favorite poet, after (how generic of me) Edgar Allen Poe. As to your insights on Rhodes and Bridges' relationship, my aren't you observant! I was just thinking, hmm, I wonder how Rhodes would react if Bridges got a boyfriend. Lucky for him I'm not planning anything like that.  
  
March Hare: As always, thank you for your excellent suggestions! It's always nice when an author's beta reader is a better writer than herself, because she can only improve!  
  
QueenofSpain: Thank you ever so much for the cookie! *crumbs fly everywhere* Don't worry about making me so mad that I'd stop writing. I've got at least two more stories planned after this one, so don't expect me to go away any time soon.  
  
Jekyll's Affliction: You know, I'm not sure why authors love to torment Holmes, either. I think it's because we're addicted to angst. And since we all love Holmes, we always like reading stories where he's in a dilemma, because it pulls at our heart strings.  
  
RosieG: You check for my updates twice a day!? Wow, I'm flattered! But I'm sorry, you can't take Rhodes home with you. Then who would Bridges have?  
  
shfanatic: *wipes cherry tomato seeds off face* Whew! I'm glad you went easy on me!  
  
Lady Arianna: I *have* read all the Mary Russell stories, since you ask. And if you saw "Case of Evil" on USA, perhaps you'll agree with me and a few others that they totally copied "A Monstrous Regiment of Women" with the whole heroin thing. It was similar enough to warrant suspicion.  
  
Rosethorn: Well, I won't inflict any more cliffhangers on you, but about the snogging... I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the next story. Along with a scene I know March Hare is dying to read. Which won't be long! Just hang in there!  
  
Okay, I think that's it! On to chapter nine!  
  
Disclaimer: I think it's long been established that nothing interesting I do is of my own originality. Maybe Rhodes and Bridges were my idea, but the rest... you have Sir Doyle to thank for that.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A Perfect World  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Nine: For Us to Decide  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Thomas Hu, trembling with anger, shook his head at me again, as if disgusted with me. How did he know? How *could* he know? Neither Rhodes nor I had done anything which would lead him to suspect us. Had we? Had we not been careful enough?  
  
Evidently not.  
  
My gaze caught Rhodes' for a split-second, and I could see by his expression of self-condemnation that he had reached the same conclusion: somehow, we had become sloppy.  
  
"Don't think I couldn't see through that disguise, Nadia," Hu said, his grip on the pistol firm despite his shaking, "I can't believe I didn't put it together sooner. For God's sake, I must have seen your Mr. Rhodes walk you home from my class at least three times."  
  
"I see you know my name," my companion noted, in a less than casual voice. He was certainly having trouble hiding his surprise.  
  
In answer, Hu reached into his coat pocket with his left hand, his gun never straying from its position in front of my chest. He pulled out a crumpled scrap of newsprint; an article torn from a recent newspaper. Turning it around, he held it up for the both of us to see. "'Dismembered Body Found'," he read aloud from the headline. His voice was unnervingly calm and detached. "'Murder Investigation Led by Victim's Private Investigator, Ethan Rhodes'."  
  
Tucking the article back in his pocket, he smiled a little, twitchy, disconcerting smile. "I'm sure you think you're still just a small-time detective, Mr. Rhodes," he said, amused. "But how you could miss your own name in the Sunday paper is really beyond me."  
  
Rhodes' lips pursed in displeasure at this criticism. "I did not miss it, Mr. Hu," he corrected him, low and intimidating. "And I had not expected my picture to be printed in the issue along with it. In fact, I had specifically requested otherwise."  
  
"How unfortunate," Hu replied coolly, narrowing his dark, almond eyes. "But as it turned out, I had this article to thank for figuring out you had targeted me. And I'm sure you know by now, it's the reason I cancelled class tonight. I had to be certain you would follow me. And I was right."  
  
I lowered my gaze to the ground. We had both been complete idiots. I had let Rhodes walk me home from massage class, allowing Hu plain sight of the very man who was seeking to put him behind bars. But I hadn't known. I had had no idea whatsoever that my teacher had taken another man's life, and so cruelly. And how could Rhodes have expected to know that his main suspect was my own instructor? There was no way we could have pieced it together.  
  
But Hu *had* figured out that Rhodes and I were in league together. He had always been ahead of us. And now he was holding all the cards.  
  
"I have to say, I'm disappointed in you, Nadia," he told me quite frankly.  
  
*Yeah,* I thought, *you're not the only one.*  
  
"You were a promising student," he continued. "A very promising student. I imagine you could have done great things for people. But instead, you chose to take sides with *this* fool - take up the life of a detective." He no longer sounded collected, but hard and bitter. "You and I both know there's no future in such a career. You spend your life trying to right wrongs and bring justice to a crumbling system, but you can never make a difference. There will always be crime, and injustice, and death. And in the end, the injustice you fought so hard against will be your own undoing." He smirked cruelly. "Like it has now."  
  
Rage began to simmer inside me. I knew it was hopeless; that we were probably going to die tonight. But to hear all this pessimistic talk about nothing good in this world being worth a damn - the very same kind of talk I had told Rhodes never to listen to - to hear it being uttered by the man who was about to kill me... It was the greatest injustice of all.  
  
"Why?" I heard myself whisper.  
  
Hu blinked. "Why, Nadia? Why what, Nadia?" His repetitive use of my name was beyond annoying.  
  
"Why... are you so callous? Why does the fact that a man is *dead* not matter to you?" My voice was getting stronger, fueled by my burning anger. "Why did you kill Martin Chan in the first place? *Why* did you think that what he did to Janet Fong was reason enough to die!?"  
  
"Don't you *ever* say that name again!!" he shouted. Rhodes began to take a step forward, torn between the importance of my safety and the danger of Hu's gun. Hu was instantly aware of what he was doing, and swung the muzzle toward him. "I wouldn't try any fancy moves, Mr. Rhodes," he threatened. "You take one more step and you'll have the privilege of watching Nadia bleed to death."  
  
Rhodes backed off as he was told, but his green eyes flashed dangerously. I had never seen Ethan Rhodes lose his temper, but I had a feeling it wasn't pretty.  
  
Hu chuckled as his gun trained on me once again. "You're good, Nadia, I will give you that," he said with a touch of what could almost be considered admiration. "You managed to take me by surprise long enough to let your guardian angel try to protect you. It almost worked, Nadia."  
  
"You didn't answer my question, *Thomas*," I shot back, irritated. We were flinging our names at each other like insults. "Why did you feel Chan deserved to die?"  
  
"I don't recall anyone saying I was under interrogation here, Nadia." He glared furiously at me, and for a moment I thought it was all over. "But I suppose since this will be your last night on Earth, I'll indulge you."  
  
I let out a breath of relief, and behind me I could feel, rather than see, Rhodes relax slightly.  
  
"I'm surprised by how much you know, Nadia," Hu began. "But you don't even know half of the story. For example, you think that Martin Chan was just a fool in love, trying to get out of the Triads to protect his new wife. What you didn't find out in your investigation was that Chan was a con artist."  
  
My eyes widened in surprise. I looked back quickly at Rhodes, and his dark eyebrows drew together. This was new to him as well.  
  
"You seem surprised, Nadia. But the sad truth is, Chan was an extortioner, as simple as that. He conned various members of the Triads out of thousands of dollars, including me. And he knew, sooner or later, that we would figure out it was him. So he left, taking his unwilling bride with him.  
  
"Yes, unwilling. Janet never loved him; she and I had been dating for months. But Chan had always been jealous, and did a poor job concealing it. Finally he told Janet he would kill me if she didn't marry him." His teeth clenched, and his voice became unsteady. "When she told me, I said I'd rather be dead than see her married to him, but... but she couldn't let anything happen to me. So she married him. A week later, they took off."  
  
Despite all the anger and disgust I felt for the man, I couldn't help but feel pity as well. The woman he had loved so intensely had been torn from him, to marry a man he despised. I could understand why he felt such injustice, but to kill him? In such a gruesome fashion? That was far too drastic a decision.  
  
"I didn't hear anything from her in years, and then one day she sent me a letter, with no return address. Her life was miserable, she said. Chan abused her, verbally and physically. He was a drunkard, and a chain-smoker, and he was slowly but surely killing her. But through all the hell she was put through, she was submissive. She said..." He swallowed, tried again. "She said she had never stopped loving me. She told me to forget about her, to move on. But how could I? *How* could I be expected to forget her when I knew of the endless nightmare that was her life?  
  
"I had to find her. It was hard, since the envelope had no address on it. But it did have one thing to help me find her: a stamp with the California state bird on it. So I went to California, but you can imagine, there are a lot of Chans in this state. It took me years of going through phone books, searching the Internet, and traveling from city to city, without success. But finally I saw an advertisement in the San Francisco Chronicle. 'Waterfront Real Estate', it said. 'For information, contact Martin and Mae-Lin Chan.  
  
"Mae-Lin Chan? I thought. Who the hell is this Mae-Lin? Then the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. Janet was dead. Chan finally succeeded in killing her."  
  
I could only imagine the raw hatred Hu must have felt. Years of torment under the iron fist of her abusive husband had killed the woman he loved. I would never condone what he had done, but after that night I had a very different opinion of Martin Chan.  
  
"So I killed him," Hu announced, as if challenging us to rebuke him. "There, you have your confession, Nadia. But am I really in the wrong here? Am I really the criminal? After all, Chan *deserved* to die. Didn't he?"  
  
My eyes couldn't seem to lift themselves up to meet his. "Maybe he did," I said slowly. "And maybe not. But that's not for one person to decide, no matter how much he believes it to be so. No matter *how* much it hurts, or how angry that person might be that everything he loved was taken from him." At last I found the courage to look directly at him. "It wasn't your decision, Thomas. You didn't have the right to play God, and decide who lives and who dies. The decision wasn't yours."  
  
"And what gives *you* the right to tell *me* whether or not it was 'my decision', Nadia?" he asked, his voice high and strained. "Who made *you* judge, jury, and executioner here tonight? You have no business telling me what's right and wrong, Nadia." He narrowed his eyes again, and I could see his finger tightening on the trigger. "You're about to die, Nadia. You've made a vain attempt to try to change my mind with your holier-than-thou attitude, but it's not going to work."  
  
Behind me, Rhodes was as tense as a taut rubber band. But Hu seemingly didn't notice, so focused was he on venting his rage. "I really don't want to kill you, Nadia," he said, sounding truly regretful. "I never did. I'm sorry it had to come to this, and if there was another way, I would let you live. You and your friend." He shook his head resolutely. "But you know too much, and you have to die. Goodbye, Nadia."  
  
With an agonizing slowness, his finger squeezed the trigger.  
  
What they say about your life flashing before your eyes is probably true in most cases. But for me, it was entirely different. I thought of all the things I wanted to do, but would never be able to. I thought of my friends in Olympia, and how they would react when they found out I was dead. I thought of my father; what would he do without his little girl?  
  
I thought of Rhodes. I thought of how hard it would be for him to see me die. Even if he escaped with his life, just how easily could he return to his lonely existence?  
  
All this went through my mind in a fraction of a second. I watched helplessly as Hu pulled the trigger, but before I could hear the gunshot that was my death sentence, I was shoved roughly out of the way. With a deafening blast from the gun, Rhodes jerked from the impact of the bullet.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A cold sweat broke out all over my body.  
  
In slow motion, Rhodes dropped to his knees, then collapsed on the cold, wet surface of the dock. I watched in horror as a crimson stain spread across the front of his snow-white shirt. One long arm crossed feebly over his chest as he covered the wound with his hand. His pale fingers were quickly soaked in his own blood.  
  
Even as the hot tears spilled down my cheek, I felt an overwhelming desire for vengeance. With an effort, I tore my gaze from Rhodes and looked at Hu, and the smoking gun. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to rip his heart out, so he could experience what I was feeling.  
  
I wanted him to die.  
  
Nearly blind with rage and tears, I lunged at him, trying to snatch the gun out of his hands. Alarmed, he stumbled backward, but I didn't loosen my grip. I saw him squeezing the trigger again, and I pulled up on the barrel. The shot went up harmlessly into the air, but my fingers burned from the discharge.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, I ducked my head under his flailing arm and bit down on his hand. Hard. To my disgust, I heard a crunch, tasted blood in my mouth. Hu yelled in pain, dropping the gun to clutch his injury. It fell, clattering on the damp wood, and I quickly grabbed it before he could think to bend down and reach for it.  
  
Spitting blood out of my mouth in revulsion, I pointed the gun at his head, my aim unwavering. He met my eyes and knew he was done for. His shoulders slumping, he held up his hands in defeat. "You win, Nadia," he said wearily. "Just let it be fast."  
  
The tables were turned now. Instead of me being at the mercy of a killer, his life was now in my hands. Out of nowhere, Hu's words echoed through my head: "Chan deserved to die. Didn't he?"  
  
Fresh tears escaped my burning eyes as I heard my own voice answer him. "You didn't have the right to play God, and decide who lives and who dies. The decision wasn't yours."  
  
I had spoken those words mere minutes ago, and now I was ignoring my own counsel. I was filled with such anger and grief that I just wanted Hu dead; nothing else mattered. Maybe he didn't deserve to live, but maybe there was still some good in him. Either way, it wasn't up to me to make that decision.  
  
"You've done something horrible, Thomas," I said quietly, oddly tranquil as I looked in his defeated black eyes. "You've killed one person and..." Choking back a sob, I continued, "and most likely two. The world would probably be better off if you were dead. But I can't make that call."  
  
He remained silent, but I knew he was listening to every single word. "Maybe there's no point to what I'm doing. Maybe I will never make a difference in this world, as long as it's filled with people like you. I don't know." I had to blink rapidly to dispel my tears. "All I know is that there's enough good in this imperfect world to keep trying."  
  
With a swift motion, I used all my strength to bring the butt of the gun down on his head. It connected with hard bone with a sickening noise, and Hu fell to the wet dock. A low groan escaped him, and he lay still. His black hair shone with blood in the silver moonlight.  
  
Letting out a deep, pent-up breath, I let the gun slip out of my hand.  
  
I frowned as I heard an alarmed voice, and I turned to see a retired, elderly man with gray, grizzled hair standing on the deck of his yacht, by the door to the cabin. Apparently he had heard the gunshots and came out to see what was going on. "What in blazes happened here?" he demanded, confused.  
  
"There's no time to explain," I replied. "Please, just call the police, and get the paramedics down here right away!"  
  
Still frazzled, he shuffled back inside the cabin of his yacht to dial 911.  
  
Kneeling down next to Rhodes, I took off the jacket he had lent to me and wrapped it around him. I gently touched his neck right below his jaw line with my fingertips, feeling for a pulse. It was weak and irregular, but at least it was there. "Rhodes," I said softly. "Rhodes, can you hear me? Answer me, please."  
  
He gave no response, and I suspected he was unconscious. Then his eyelids fluttered open, and he stared up at me. I was distressed to see that his eyes, usually so bright and alert, were now vacant and glossy. His lips moved slightly, and I had to strain to hear him. "Bridges?"  
  
For the millionth time that night, I cried. Rhodes gave me a weak smile, raised his white hand, and caressed the side of my face. I covered it with my own, my shoulders shaking with each sob. In the distance, I could hear police sirens, faint at first and then steadily louder. But I would never get the sound of that first gunshot out of my head.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Aaaahhhhhh, God, I wrote all of that in one day. How, you ask? Well, I had nothing better to do. But that was just the first draft. I have March Hare to thank for giving me ideas and suggestions on how to change it for the better. So if you liked it, be sure to thank her for pointing me in the right direction. I know it's kinda short. Sorry about that. But I felt it was the right length for such a tension-filled chapter. And before you start screaming "NO! NOT ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER!!" it wasn't *really* a cliffhanger. Because we all know Rhodes will be okay. There's only so much we can take, right? So please leave a review telling me what you thought. 'Preciate it! And be looking for the next chapter soon, in which we see the return of our old friend (ha) Agent Solomon!  
  
Wakizashi  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	10. Reluctant Hero

A/N: Guh, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. Our hard drive CRASHED, and I couldn't use the computer for quite a while. Thank heavens I copied all my files on a CD before we reformatted the drive. Everything we didn't copy was lost. Anyway, thank you all so much for your reviews, even though some were fueled by burning rage and a desire to strangle me. Meh! No matter! It still feels good to hit the 100 mark on my number of reviews. I'm sorry I had to put you all - and my characters - through such torture. But this chapter is to make up for everything that happened in the last one. Seriously, it's going to be so sweet... you might even get cavities.  
  
Oh, but hey, before I get started, I just wanted to clear something up for some of you guys, because I've noticed a little uncertainty in this matter: while many aspects of Rhodes' personality are modeled after the original Great Detective, he is by no means a carbon copy of Holmes. At first it might have seemed like that was where I was going, but as the story progressed, Rhodes somehow became an entirely unique character. I'm not sure how it happened, but there it is. So while he and Holmes do share a lot of similarities, Rhodes is not as... well, cold and cerebral as Holmes. Although he still has a hard time admitting his feelings. So! Now that that's cleared up, let's get this chapter on its way.  
  
Disclaimer: Must I keep doing this? Rhodes and Bridges are mine; "A Study in Scarlet" is not.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A Perfect World  
  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Ten: Reluctant Hero  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."  
  
- John 15:13, New International Version  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Early morning sunlight filtered in through the venetian blinds of the east-facing windows, casting striped shadows across the beige decor of the hospital waiting room. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, and the faint sound of traffic could be heard even at five o'clock in the morning. Across the room, a mother kept a close watch on her adorable three-year-old boy as he sat on the floor playing with Tinker Toys, and the receptionist smacked loudly on a piece of gum.  
  
I flipped through a dog-eared, out-dated issue of People magazine, my leg developing a nervous tic from being crossed for so long. Staring blearily up at the wall clock for the eight hundredth time, I sighed. My eyes were so sore, between the crying and the sleep deprivation, that I couldn't even see the words on the page. Not that I was dying to know what Ewan MacGregor was doing this Thanksgiving, anyway.  
  
The double doors swung open, and a surgeon wearing rumpled scrubs and a faint layer of stubble walked into the waiting room. "Miss Bridges?" he inquired, pulling off his surgical mask. "Miss Nadia Bridges?"  
  
My heart leapt up into my throat. Setting the magazine on the chair next to mine, I stood up and walked across the linoleum floor, the rubber soles of the hospital-issue slippers I had been given slapping loudly. "Yes?" I asked anxiously, taken aback by how tired my voice sounded.  
  
The doctor looked up at me sympathetically. I could understand why; I probably looked like a train wreck. "I'm Dr. Weiss," he said, shaking my hand. "You'll be happy to know that your friend Mr. Rhodes will be just fine." My shoulders slumped in relief. "The good news is, the bullet hit him in the right side of his chest, which is far better than the left. The bad news is that it virtually shattered his fourth rib and punctured his lung. And he's lost quite a lot of blood."  
  
*I can imagine,* I thought. The image of his crimson-stained shirtfront would be forever burned into my mind. "How is he now?" I asked.  
  
"He's resting from the operation, and his condition has been upgraded from critical to stable."  
  
"Thank God," I heard myself breathe. My brain was still trying to process all that had happened the night before, but it was still somewhat of a blur. Just as the police had arrived, Hu regained consciousness, and knew he had no hope of escaping. He was taken into custody, and the paramedics lifted Rhodes onto a stretcher and carried him up to the ambulance. Thankfully, they allowed me to ride in the back with him, but halfway to the hospital he had already become delirious. By the time we pulled into the emergency drop-off, he was fully unconscious.  
  
And I had to sit in the waiting room the entire night.  
  
Now I asked hopefully, "Can I see him?"  
  
Dr. Weiss looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Miss Bridges, but I'm afraid only family members are permitted in this case."  
  
"What!?" The receptionist stared at me, and I lowered my voice. "But that's ridiculous! You're saying I waited here all night to see if he would be okay, and now I can't even see him?"  
  
"I'm really very sorry," he replied with that effortless bedside manner that doctors seem to have been born with. "I didn't make the rules. I only abide by them."  
  
"But..." It didn't seem fair, especially in Rhodes' case. If I didn't visit him, who else was going to? "Look, Dr. Weiss. I know the rules say 'family members only'. But this is different. Everyone in his family - his parents, his sister - they're all dead. If anyone can be considered his family, it's me. And that's not saying much." Exhausted and emotionally drained, I basically pleaded with him. "Please, *please* let me see him."  
  
Dr. Weiss wrestled with his conscience for a moment, unused to such ambiguity. Finally he sighed. "Very well. He's currently in room 117, on this floor. I'll take you there."  
  
He led me through the sterile corridors, past the seemingly endless number of doors, until he stopped at a room that lay almost at the very end of the wing. As he opened the door and ushered me inside, I found that the blinds were drawn, and my eyes had to get used to the darkness before I could see anything more than the lights on the regulating machines. Then, after a few seconds, I was able to make out the prone figure on the bed.  
  
Ethan Nicholas Rhodes lay on his back, dressed in a light green hospital gown and sleeping quite peacefully. His left hand rested on his chest, an IV drip hooked up to his wrist. His breathing was a bit shallow, his hair mussed more than usual, and there were dark smudges under his closed eyes, but other than that he might have been taking a nap. If his hospital gown had been white, he would have looked like an angel.  
  
My eyes welled up yet again as I watched him, unable to think about anything but the brave thing he had done. Dr. Weiss noticed and cleared his throat. "I'll leave you alone," he said, standing in the doorway. "And I'll have one of the nurses bring you some coffee." With that he left, shutting the door softly behind him.  
  
Making as little noise as I could, I pulled a chair up next to the hospital bed. The blankets didn't look like they would be warm enough, and I wished I could go get Rhodes' big, goose-down comforter. I would probably bring him something else to wear, as well, since it was quite apparent that he didn't like to wear colors. Shaking my head, I decided the people at the hospital knew what they were doing.  
  
Once again, my mind played over the events leading up to our arrival at the hospital. I could see myself sitting next to Rhodes' stretcher in the back of the ambulance, tightly gripping his bloody hand. As we sped up the streets, bouncing over the potholes, he began mumbling feverishly; scattered memories from his childhood in Georgia. His voice was barely audible over the wailing of the siren, and even as I watched, his brilliant eyes had become cloudier and more distant.  
  
Thank God he was resting now. Reaching out slowly, I brushed his tousled bangs out of his face. His smooth forehead wrinkled slightly, and then relaxed as he sighed in his sleep.  
  
Smiling a little to myself, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Rhodes' jacket hanging from a small coat rack in the corner. I retrieved it and sat down again, draping it over myself. I was exhausted, but I really didn't want to fall asleep if Rhodes was going to wake up any time soon. But then I remembered that he had been given a general anesthetic to help him sleep, and he would probably be out for a few more hours.   
  
*Hell with it,* I finally thought to myself, settling back and shutting my eyes. I would only sleep for a little while.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
And a little while it was, for I had barely drifted off before the noises of the morning nurse checking up on her patient's vital signs woke me up. As my eyes fluttered open, she smiled at me, revealing - to my surprise - a mouth full of braces. "Good morning, Miss Bridges," she said pleasantly, setting a cup of coffee on the table beside me. Coffee. How many cups of that black sludge had I served throughout my lifetime? I made a mental note to find another massage instructor, and fast.  
  
Straightening in my chair, I tilted my head to the side, wincing as it gave a loud pop. "It's eight o'clock already?" I asked in disbelief, looking at the clock. "I was hoping I wouldn't sleep that long."  
  
The nurse gave a soft chuckle as she wrote on her clipboard. "When the body goes without sleep for a long time, it basically forces itself to shut down. You were going to sleep whether you wanted to or not."  
  
"Guess so," I replied, setting Rhodes' coat on the bedside table. I looked at him, not surprised to find him still unconscious. "How much longer do you think he'll sleep?" I asked.  
  
"It depends on how much he needed it," she answered. "In this case, his body has undergone quite an ordeal. He could be out for another six, seven hours. But feel free to make yourself at home, watch some TV. Don't worry, it won't wake him up."  
  
I sighed. The only reason his body had taken such abuse in the last twelve hours was because of me. For all I cared, he deserved to sleep all he wanted.  
  
"I'll be back to check on him again in a while," the nurse told me. "Oh, and I believe another visitor asked to see Mr. Rhodes a few minutes ago. I can't think of his name right now, but he was a short, kind of pudgy man. Thinning hair."  
  
My eyebrows climbed toward my own hairline. "Ed Solomon?" I asked warily.  
  
"That's what it was! Now why did I forget? He might still be in the lobby. Would you like me to get him?"  
  
I felt my shoulders slump, but I nodded. He was probably here for a first-hand account of what happened down at the Wharf. "Sure, bring him on in," I said resignedly.  
  
The nurse took her leave, and it was only a short while before the stout, plump form of Agent Edward Solomon appeared in the doorway, his hands in his coat pockets. He nodded his recognition toward me, then stopped abruptly. He looked as though he had just greeted a stranger and hadn't realized it.  
  
"Miss Bridges?" he asked, lingering hesitantly in the doorway.  
  
"Yes," I said slowly, wondering what his problem was. Then suddenly a bright red curl fell into my eyes, and I finally understood his reaction. I had removed my black-framed glasses, but hadn't yet bothered to take off the wig. "Sorry, still in disguise," I explained, pulling the mass of red hair off my head.  
  
He nodded, still a bit uncertain.  
  
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and stood up, stretching. "Have a seat, Agent Solomon," I said, gesturing toward the chair. "I've been sitting long enough as it is."  
  
As the construction of metal and plastic groaned in protest under his weight, I pulled the elastic band out of my hair and shook it, ignoring the agent's appreciative glance as the honey-brown locks fell to my shoulders. Some men were just so obvious.  
  
"So," I prompted, forcing him to attention. "What can I do for you, Mr. Solomon? As you can see, Rhodes is pretty much indisposed at the moment."  
  
"Yeah, I can see that," he replied, staring down at the sleeping detective. "Well, Miss Bridges, I already got the official story down at the station, so I'm not here to ask you to repeat your account. I just thought you'd want to know that we got a confession out of Hu."  
  
Hearing my instructor's name still sent an unpleasant feeling down my back. "You did?" I said weakly.  
  
"Yup. Heard his side of the story, naturally." Solomon rolled his eyes. "Suddenly the perfect image of Martin Chan ain't looking so spotless now, is it? Anyway, Hu's decided to plead guilty for his murder. Of course."  
  
I nodded absently, my gaze fixed on Rhodes' peaceful face.  
  
Solomon noticed my distraction. "So this crazy kid took a bullet for you, huh?" He shook his head at Rhodes in a reprimanding fashion. "He's got quite the brain in that head of his, but damned if he ever uses it. Still, he must really love you to do something nuts like that."  
  
"Ed, I'm going to be honest with you," I said wearily. "Rhodes and I aren't going out. He just started the whole ruse so you wouldn't try to hit on me."  
  
The agent blinked, and I couldn't tell if he was offended or not. He certainly didn't look that surprised. Finally he shrugged. "Whatever. Either way, it's still pretty obvious he cares about you. As more than a friend; or partner, or whatever the hell you two are. Why else would he throw himself in front of a gun for you?"  
  
Despite my best efforts, I felt my cheeks grow warm. "I don't know about that," I replied quickly. "If the circumstances were different, I'd do the same for him. And I'm not in love with him or anything." I cocked my head at him. "Why do you care, anyway? What's the real reason you came down here? I know it wasn't just to tell me that Hu confessed."  
  
Solomon shrugged again, looking uncomfortable this time. "Ah well, when I heard what happened, I just thought I'd see how the lanky little retard was doing. Seeing as how he got himself shot and all." His denim-blue eyes wouldn't meet mine.  
  
A slow smile spread over my face. It all made sense now. "I see what's going on," I said, smugness creeping into my voice. "That whole 'I can't stand Rhodes' act you have going on is just a front, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh, don't make it sound like you found life on Mars," he muttered irritably. "Yeah, okay. I admit it. He's a pretty good kid. Sometimes," he added hastily. He spun on Rhodes' slumbering form. "You better not be awake," he told him, pointing an accusing finger.  
  
I crossed my arms over my chest in satisfaction. "I've heard all I needed to know," I announced.  
  
Solomon glared at me from under his heavy eyebrows. Then he stood up, shifting his generous weight from one small foot to the other. "I'd better get back down to headquarters. I'm supposed to be on duty, and the director probably wouldn't be happy if he knew I was visiting freelance detectives with death wishes at the hospital. And their not-really girlfriends," he added pointedly, to my annoyance.  
  
He stuck out a chubby hand. "Take care, Miss Bridges," he said with a bone-crushing handshake. "And not only of yourself. Take care of that idiot over there in the bed, too." With one last nod, he walked out the door.  
  
I couldn't help but laugh to myself as I returned to the chair next to the hospital bed. Suddenly I didn't hate the chunky FBI agent as much as I had before.  
  
After Solomon's departure, the hours went by slowly. The only time I left my steady vigil by Rhodes' side was to use the adjoining bathroom, and to call the coffee house and inform them I wouldn't be at work. I hadn't worked there long, but it was easy to make my boss understand when I told her that 'Mr. Impossible' had been shot while protecting me from a cold-blooded killer. As annoying a customer as Rhodes was, he was still a most faithful patron.  
  
I didn't have much of an appetite as I waited for the young detective to regain consciousness. Nor was I in the mood for a rubbery slab of Salisbury steak, floating listlessly in a swamp of brown gravy. As I recall, the only thing I consented to eat was a cup of lime Jell-o, and even then I had to force it down.  
  
So other than the aforementioned boring but necessary tasks, I did virtually nothing but sit there and listen to Rhodes breathe. Occasionally I surfed through the channels on the small overhead television, but I had trouble paying attention to the omnipresent talk shows and Ron Popeil infomercials. Not that I minded; they didn't get Comedy Central anyway.  
  
At around two-thirty exhaustion was setting in once again. Three hours was definitely not enough rest for an aspiring masseuse/detective, after all, and the steady hum of the regulating machines was, absurdly enough, slowly lulling me to sleep.  
  
Being extremely careful not to disturb Rhodes, I pulled my chair closer to the bed and laid my head on the sheeted mattress, my face buried in my arms. Almost immediately my eyes slid shut, and I waited impatiently for blissful sleep.  
  
If I hadn't been so tired, I would have jumped three feet in the air when I suddenly felt a long, thin hand stroking my hair. Startled, I raised my head. My eyes quickly locked onto a pair of bright green ones, gazing at me fondly.  
  
"You're not wearing that ridiculous wig anymore," said Rhodes softly.  
  
I laughed, blinking back tears. "I told you," I replied, my voice hitching in my throat, "I'm not Irish enough."  
  
He looked around the room for a while with an almost catlike curiosity, plucked at his green hospital gown with distaste. Then he tried to take a deep breath, wincing slightly. "Hurts to breathe," he said tightly.  
  
I nodded sympathetically. "The bullet punctured your lung. It's going to take a while to fully heal." My hand came to rest on his arm. "I still can't believe what you did."  
  
Oddly enough, he seemed not to hear this last statement - or if he did, he didn't show it. Instead, he stared down at my hand, my slight tan in contrast with his pale skin. He appeared to be deep in thought. Then, slowly, he took up my hand in his left one, using his right to run his fingers between my knuckles. My heart gave a leap, against my will.  
  
"What nationality *are* you, Bridges?" he asked casually.  
  
*Oh, we're still on that,* I thought. "Well, my mother's family is pretty scattered from what I can remember, but my father's side is Scottish." I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feel of his cool fingertips. No, this certainly wouldn't do. I had my defenses when it came to the attentions of an attractive man, but I wasn't totally immune.  
  
Rhodes made a small sound of acknowledgement. "Scottish," he repeated thoughtfully. Unbidden, Solomon's words sprang to mind; his theory about Rhodes caring about me as more than a friend. Before, I had dismissed it as pure rubbish. But what if I was wrong? What if Rhodes *had* developed romantic feelings for me?  
  
*Someone's got quite the ego,* I scolded myself. Rhodes hadn't known me long enough to feel anything for me more than friendship, and even if he did, two more weeks in my company would certainly cure that problem. *It's his love-starved childhood,* I told myself. *That's why he's so affectionate now.*  
  
What I wasn't imagining, however, was his obvious reluctance to recognize what he had done for me the night before.  
  
"Rhodes," I said, causing his fingers to halt briefly. "Don't you want to talk about what happened?"  
  
He shrugged his gaunt shoulders slightly, and resumed his absent ministrations. "Why?" he asked.  
  
I expelled a breath through my nostrils, exasperated. "Because," I said slowly, "you saved my life last night, and that's a pretty big deal. Why are you avoiding the subject?"  
  
"I'm not avoiding it," he countered, getting a little defensive now. "We can talk about it if you want, Bridges. It's just that I, personally, don't think it was all that significant." He said it like he actually meant it.  
  
I gaped at him in disbelief. "You're joking, right? You could have *died*, Rhodes! If the gun had been aimed any more to the right, you *would* have died! And you're saying you don't think that's significant?" I shook my head, as though I was in a nonsensical dream I couldn't wake up from. "This doesn't add up, Rhodes. You stepped in front of a bullet for me, and now you're acting like it was nothing. What's really bothering you about this?"  
  
At this point he let go of my hand abruptly. "What's bothering me," he snapped, "is your ceaseless badgering, Bridges!"  
  
His sharp retort hung in the air like an unseen presence. My lower lip began to tremble, and I bit down on it as I held his gaze angrily. Then I slowly nodded, pushed my chair out, and stood up. "Fine," I said evenly. "I sat in the waiting room all night, and here in your room half the day. Just to make sure you were all right. But if you want me to leave, then I'll leave."  
  
I began to make my way toward the door, refusing to turn around as I waved my hand. "See you around, partner," I called over my shoulder. The last word sounded especially bitter.  
  
"Bridges, please wait."  
  
I swallowed a lump in my throat and continued walking. I wasn't going to give in to that upper-class southern voice so easily.  
  
"Oh Lord, I am so sorry, Bridges. Will you please turn around?"  
  
"Why should I?" I threw back at him. I didn't have to take this from such an ungrateful wretch.  
  
There was a short pause. "Because if you stay, and let your moronic partner explain himself, he might just tell you what's really bothering him."  
  
I halted in the doorway. He truly did sound apologetic. Reluctantly, I turned around and met his eyes once again. This time they held no irritation, but were filled with regret. I sighed and crossed my arms, and Rhodes knew he'd won. "All right," I said, defeated. "You have two minutes to explain your beastly behavior."  
  
He smiled slightly, patting the mattress next to him. Crossing the room again, I hopped up onto the side of the bed and looked at him expectantly.  
  
"First of all," he said, his arms falling to his sides. "I'm sorry I was so harsh with you, Bridges. It means a lot to me that you stayed here this whole time. And second..." He hesitated, looking almost ashamed. "I... I lied to you. When I said I didn't think that what happened was significant, I was lying."  
  
I leaned forward, confused. "Why?"  
  
He looked down at his hands, at the IV drip hooked to his wrist. "It's a little embarrassing, and I realize it doesn't make much sense. But I suppose I have to tell you everything, now that we're partners," he said wryly, his dark eyebrow raised. "When I saw Hu get ready to pull the trigger, all rational thought left my mind. All my instincts told me that I couldn't let anything happen to you, so I just... knocked you out of the way." He shook his head. "It even took *me* by surprise."  
  
I smiled, and this time took his hand in mine. "I don't think that's embarrassing," I told him. "I think it's very heroic."  
  
"That's because I wasn't finished," he muttered. "I really would rather not tell you this, Bridges, but..." As he raised his eyes, I unconsciously squeezed his hand. "Everyone I've ever cared about has been taken from me, as you well know. And I realize now how close I came to losing you tonight. I just didn't want to admit its significance because I thought that, if I allow myself to become too fond of you... I might end up losing you, as well." He lowered his eyes again, abashed. "I told you it was irrational," he finished lamely.  
  
To say that I was shocked would have been an understatement. His words only confirmed what I had been suspecting all along: that Rhodes needed me, that he was almost dependent of me. Before, I had been daunted by the thought of such a commitment to someone as emotionally fragile as Rhodes.  
  
But he had saved my life, without even thinking. Now I realized that I needed this friendship, this concrete relationship, as much as he did. I was hundreds of miles from any of the people I loved - before I had met Rhodes, I was virtually alone in this big city. I needed someone to care for me, to protect me. And who better than the man who had stopped a bullet for me?  
  
It was true that I had no idea what was in store for our partnership, or whether we might encounter greater dangers. I didn't even have a clue what turn our personal relationship would take. But I did know one thing.  
  
Gently, I lifted his chin up with my hand. "I'm not going anywhere," I said softly.  
  
Rhodes took in these words, and their many meanings, with a simple nod of his head. Then he held out his arm, and I settled gingerly into his embrace, careful not to upset his wound. As I rested my head lightly on his left shoulder, he reached out and took his jacket from the bedside table. Pulling his keychain out of one of the pockets, he removed a brass key and handed it to me. "Here," he murmured.  
  
I raised my eyebrows questioningly.  
  
"The key to my condo," he explained. "For the love of God, *please* get me something else to wear."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Ahh, done. Finally. Took me long enough, right? Don't complain about it being short, it was a thousand words longer than the last one. But you'll be pleased to know that there's one more chapter after this. Yay! But don't think I'll go away after that, because I've got a whole new story involving our peculiarly named duo. I'll explain more in the next chapter, but in the meantime, be sure to leave me a review telling me what you thought. Believe it or not, but your opinion is very important to me. Ciao for now!  
  
Wakizashi  
  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


	11. And Last

A/N: Ohhhhhh, last chapter. It's a relief, and yet I'm sorry it's over. But no matter; there's going to be another story after this! So don't think I'll be gone for long. Oh, sure, I might take a short break to write an amusing little diversion I've been wanting to do. But after that, it's back to Rhodes and Bridges! After all, you guys have been so patient, and what kind of author would I be if I didn't appease my readers with a spot of romance? Yes, I do take my tea with a little sugah, thank you very much.  
  
But before I start, I'd like to thank all my reviewers; the ones who reviewed, more specifically. There are quite a lot of you, and I'm not online at the moment, so I can't thank you all by your individual names. But you know who you are! Please believe me when I'm say I'm very grateful for your interest. And a great big thanks goes out to March Hare, my beta reader and good friend. This story wouldn't be the way it is without her help. Thanks, amiga, and I hope you can endure our friendship through my next stories!  
  
Disclaimer: Blah. Go back to an earlier chapter and read its disclaimer.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A Perfect World  
  
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche  
  
by Wakizashi  
  
Chapter Eleven: And Last  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I'm glad we decided to take a train," I said happily, staring out the window at a line of maple trees as they swept quickly by. The branches were nearly stripped of their red and orange leaves, and the air outside was no doubt frigid, but the chilly November day seemed quite bright and sunny. Perhaps it only seemed that way from the warmth of the train car.  
  
Sitting at my side, Rhodes pulled his headphones away from his ears. He had been listening to a Celtic CD I forced him to borrow on his Discman, and actually seemed to be enjoying it. "What was that?" he asked.  
  
"I said, I'm glad we took the train, instead of flying to Seattle," I repeated, pausing to take a sip of my Jones soda. Mm, green apple. "It may take longer, but the scenery is to die for."  
  
Rhodes nodded, his green eyes taking in the lush Oregon landscape that passed us by outside the window. "It really is," he replied. "Hard to believe I've never been to the Beaver State. It's quite picturesque. Although I can't say I would enjoy the rain much after a few weeks of torrential downpour," he remarked dryly.  
  
"Well then, you're going to adore Olympia," I told him, chuckling. "As a rule, it's always five degrees colder in the Olympia-Seattle-Tacoma area than it is in Portland. And there are no exceptions to the rule."  
  
"Hmm, lovely," he said, settling back in his seat. He winced slightly as the movement tugged at his wound.  
  
"Still sore?" I asked, though it was more of an observation than a question.  
  
He shrugged. "Not too bad."  
  
If I knew Rhodes, however, he was just saying that to make me feel less guilty. The previous month had been enough torture without the trial, but it had taken an unexpectedly long time for Rhodes to heal. I suspected his slow recovery had something to do with his reluctance to face Thomas Hu again - although he would never admit it.  
  
Still, I doubt his anger toward Hu was as intense as mine the first time I saw him in that courtroom. The second he raised his dark eyes to mine, I had wanted to seize the judge's gavel and beat him into senselessness. Rhodes must have felt the rays of fury emanating from me, for his iron grip on my shoulder quickly left little room for my brutal impulses. The proceedings were held without any untoward incidents or threats on the defendant's life.  
  
This disappointed me greatly. It turned out, however, that this was a good thing. After three stressful weeks, the verdict was finally in: Thomas Hu was to serve two life sentences without bail, for the murder of Martin Chan and the attempted murder of Ethan Rhodes. There is a God, after all.  
  
And yet, as the bailiff dragged my former instructor out of the room, I felt, to my surprise, some of my hatred for him dissolve. Just a *fraction*, mind you, but this miniscule amount of anger was replaced by pity. What's that phrase that people say sometimes? 'Sympathy for the Devil'. Well, Thomas Hu wasn't the original serpent, of course, but I still felt sorry for him: sorry that he couldn't let go of what had happened to him in the past, sorry that he felt the only answer was taking another's life. What a sad mind, indeed.  
  
"Where are we, exactly?" Rhodes suddenly asked, shaking me out of my musings. It was just as well. I really didn't feel like thinking about Hu on such a great day.  
  
I pondered over his question for a moment. "I'd say we're almost to Eugene by now. But it'll still be a while until we get to Olympia, so I suggest you kick back and relax. Enjoy the ride. After all, it won't be too long before our little vacation is over, and we'll have to get back to life as usual - me to my studies, and you to what you do best."  
  
Rhodes smiled and replaced the headphones. It took only a few seconds for his index finger to begin tapping the armrest, and then it was my turn to smile.  
  
As he became immersed in the soothing but catchy music of the Celts, I pulled my original French edition of 'The Count of Monte Cristo' out of my duffel and began to read. I had already read it numerous times, but for some reason I never got tired of it. It was like that one favorite movie that you watched so many times you ended up wearing out the tape, or that old threadbare sweater that was far too comfortable to get rid of.  
  
I probably should have been studying my massage therapy textbook, but I didn't care. I was just happy that I had found a reliable, sane instructor. Needless to say, I had checked her references to death.  
  
I wasn't very far into my book, and in fact Edmond Dantés' harrowing escape from the Châteaux D'If had barely come to fruition when I felt a warm weight on my shoulder. Startled, I whipped my head around to see Rhodes leaning heavily against me, fast asleep. I couldn't help but smile. He had been complaining about sleeplessness ever since the trial, and I had no doubt that our early-morning departure from the San Francisco station had done little to help his predicament. Now, I was glad he had a chance to rest.  
  
A little girl across the aisle began to giggle as Rhodes began to snore softly. I grinned at her and shrugged helplessly, feeling a swell of attachment toward the man who slept so innocently at my side. Come to think of it, I had been experiencing that feeling of affection quite a lot recently.  
  
Looking down at his peaceful face, at his long black eyelashes, I sighed. Over the last couple of months, I had found a true friend. Sure, he had his annoying qualities - like that horrid slouching habit - but his good traits far outweighed the bad. Plus any idiot could see he wasn't ugly. And sure, sometimes when he sat close to me while we watched a movie or discussed a case, and I could smell his cologne, I inexplicably had the sudden urge to edge closer so I could better breathe in the scent.  
  
But we were friends; nothing more. Our relationship was something that I treasured, and I didn't want to risk turning it into something more, for fear of destroying what we had. My absurd little dangerous thoughts of romance would have to go unfulfilled.  
  
Just as that pleasant chill his soft black hair gave me as it brushed against my neck would have to be ignored. Smiling as he murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, I shut my book and settled against him, closing my eyes and resting my head on the top of his. Soon he would wake up, and our moment of intimacy, whether he knew about it or not, would be over. But for now, I could enjoy it while it lasted.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Bridges. Come on, wake up."  
  
*No, not yet,* I thought groggily, burrowing further into the warm heat source I was pillowed against. I was just far too comfortable to move.  
  
"Wake up, Bridges, we're in Olympia."  
  
Okay, that got my attention. Slowly, my eyes fluttered open, and I remembered what - or rather, who - I was leaning against. My head shot up quickly, and Rhodes grinned at me in amusement. *What's so funny?* I thought irritably. It wasn't like I had *planned* on falling asleep on him... well... Shut up. "Sorry," I muttered, looking out the window. Eager to change the subject, I said, "So we're here?"  
  
He nodded, running a thin white hand absently through his hair, which had grown almost past his ears. Lordy, it grew fast. "We're here," he replied.  
  
With a giddy thrill, I looked out the window at the station outside. The sun was slowly falling toward the horizon, but it was easy to tell we were in Olympia; the most underrated state capital in the country. I couldn't wait to see my father, and all my old friends. Although I felt bad that Rhodes had no one else to spend Thanksgiving with, I was still glad he had agreed to come with me to my former hometown. Everyone was dying to meet the man who had saved my reckless hide.  
  
As Rhodes pulled his suitcase out from under his seat, he looked at me thoughtfully. "Do you still consider this place your home?" he asked. No doubt he had planned on keeping his voice casual, but it didn't come out that way.  
  
I knew what he was thinking. He suspected that San Francisco was merely the place where I lived now; that even though he had become a good friend to me, he would never be as important as everything I had in Olympia. It was true that I felt like I was going back to a place that I loved. But it wasn't my home anymore.  
  
I turned away from the window and smiled at Rhodes, who was still awaiting my answer. "Nah," I replied, shaking my head. "It will always be the place where I grew up, but I'm not attached to the city itself. It's the memories that I treasure, and I'll always have those." I grabbed my duffel off the floor. "Like I told you before, kid. I'm not going anywhere. San Francisco's my home now."  
  
Before he could answer, I stood up and tousled his shaggy black hair. "Come on, let's go. We don't want the train to leave the station with us on board." With that I edged past him into the aisle and stepped off the train onto the platform, leaving Rhodes to follow me silently, still absorbing what I had told him.  
  
The second that my foot touched concrete, a familiar voice in the form of an excited squeal reached my ears. "Naddy!!" came the delighted shriek.  
  
I laughed as the petite form of my childhood friend launched herself at me, hugging me with a strength that didn't seem to match her size. "Hey, Alma," I said, squeezing her back. "Long time no see, chica!"  
  
Giggling, Alma pulled back and gave me one of her scrutinizing looks with her dark eyes. "You look like you've lost weight, Naddy," she observed, obviously displeased. "You're not eating healthy down in 'Frisco, are you?"  
  
"Sure I am," I replied defensively. "It's just, with the trial and Rhodes' injury and everything, it's been a little hard on me physically. Speaking of which!" Turning to Rhodes, who was standing with his suitcase at a respectful distance, I grabbed his arm and brought him forward. "Rhodes, meet Alma Dominguez, my partner in crime when we were kids. Alma, this is Ethan Rhodes. He's my *new* partner in crime."  
  
Alma took one look at him, stood on her toes, and gave Rhodes a big, wet kiss on his cheek. I covered my mouth to suppress a laugh. This time his embarrassed blush *wasn't* my imagination. "I don't know who the hell you are," Alma told him matter-of-factly, "but I love you for saving my Nadia."  
  
Unable to think of anything else to say, Rhodes managed a weak, "It's nice to meet you, Miss Dominguez."  
  
At that Alma turned to me, a wicked grin on her bronze face. "Oh-ho, you didn't tell me he had an accent," she remarked, elbowing me in the ribs. "Seems like a nice, fine, upstanding southern gentleman, if I do say so myself. Emphasis on the word 'fine'," she added with a snicker.  
  
Rhodes colored again, and I rolled my eyes. "Forgive my friend, Rhodes," I said with a glare toward Alma. "She has this disease where she speaks whatever's on her mind."  
  
Of course, I could understand Alma's reaction at seeing my partner for the first time. A dapper study in gray and white, Rhodes was over six feet of male resplendence with his expensive suit, Italian shoes, and open collar. His long, billowing overcoat whipped in the cold autumn wind, completing his dashing ensemble and looking very much like he had the first time I had seen him - with slightly longer hair, of course. Briefly I remembered my own comment at first laying eyes on him, and I quickly forgave Alma for her indiscretion.  
  
My partner was obviously aware of the both of us staring at him, because he raised a dark eyebrow expectantly. "Shall we go?" he asked with a politeness I was infinitely grateful for. God knew I would be hearing about this later. "I'm sure your father is anxious to see you again."  
  
"You're right, Rhodes," I said, smiling sweetly at him, while at the same time pinching Alma on the arm. She squeaked, but before she could open her mouth to express her displeasure, I steered her toward her car, which stood at the near end of the parking lot. "Come on, Alma, everyone's waiting for us!" I told her lightheartedly.  
  
We deposited our bags in the trunk of her old Honda Accord, and it was only a short ride to my old house. It was comfortably situated at the corner of the street, and as the car braked to a stop in the driveway, I got a warm, fuzzy feeling when I saw smoke rising from the chimney, as if expecting our arrival. As houses go, it was a tad small; certainly smaller than the farmhouse we had lived in before. But it was quaint and cheerful and filled to the brim with memories - some good and others not so good.  
  
Alma pressed the 'release' button for the trunk, and Rhodes climbed out of the car and retrieved all of our luggage before I could protest. Carrying all that weight had to be a strain on his wound, and I reached out to take my duffel from him. He merely smirked and walked blithely past me up the walk. It was just like him. Glaring angrily at his back, I willed him to trip and fall on his way to the front door, but of course he did no such thing.  
  
Myself sighing at Rhodes' stubbornness, Alma and I followed him to the door. I found it unlocked, and I yanked it open and raced inside, tossing my bag carelessly on the floor. Barely able to contain my excitement, I dashed down the short hallway and into the living room, my eyes at once landing on the man who was my hero, my role model, and my friend.  
  
"Dad!!"  
  
My father, Douglas Bridges, smiled at the sound of my voice. "Hey, princess," he said, beaming. "Good to see you're still in one piece."  
  
Laughing, I knelt by his wheelchair and hugged him, even though I knew he couldn't feel it. After a few moments I stood and embraced Rachel, my father's physical therapist, just as tightly. "How have you guys been since I've been away?" I asked.  
  
"Oh, you know. Same old, same old." Dad drew in a breath after each sentence. "Alma has been calling almost every day. Asking me if you've said anything about moving back. I keep telling her you're staying where you are. She doesn't believe me. Hi, Alma," he added as my two friends filed in behind me.  
  
She grinned impishly. "Hi, Mr. Bridges. Way to rat on me."  
  
My father laughed, and his eyes fell on my other companion. "And is this Ethan Rhodes?"  
  
I nodded. "Yes, I believe it is him. Rhodes, come here and meet my old man." He came forward, and I took his hand and placed it in my father's limp one. "Ethan Rhodes, this is my father, Douglas Bridges."  
  
For a brief moment the two men stared at each other, taking each other in. Suddenly Rhodes brought the full force of a genial smile on my father. "It's very nice to finally meet you, Mr. Bridges," he told him. "Your daughter talks about you constantly."  
  
This caused a grin to spread on Dad's face. "I could say the same thing about you," he replied. "But please, no more of this 'Mr. Bridges' stuff. It's just Doug, all right?"  
  
"All right, Mr. - ah, Doug."  
  
"Mr. Doug! Oh, that's good!" My father laughed again. "Rachel," he said to his therapist, "young Ethan here is the guy who took a bullet for Nadia."  
  
Rachel gasped and put a hand dramatically on her chest. Oh, Lord, here we go again. "No! Really? Oh, well, in that case, Mr. Rhodes, we owe a great deal to you for putting yourself in such danger. If you hadn't been there, our little Nadia..." she trailed off, choking back a sob. *Please,* I thought, suppressing a sigh of irritation. *In the name of all that is holy, Rachel, please don't cry.*  
  
Fortunately she didn't, but a shower of thanks and praise on my partner for saving my life swiftly threatened to waste the rest of the day. I won't lie; it really annoyed me. That's not to say I wasn't infinitely grateful, or that Rhodes didn't deserve it. In truth, I would probably thank him every single day if he had not requested not to make a big deal out of it. But it was my fault it had happened, and every time someone brought it up, it only reminded me than it was because of my acquaintance with Thomas Hu that Rhodes had been shot in the first place.  
  
And now *everyone* was bringing it up.  
  
"Is it true you would have died if the bullet had been any more to the right?" Alma asked.  
  
Rhodes looked slightly self-concious. "Well, I'm not sure about that..."  
  
Now it was my father's turn. "How long were you in the hospital again?"  
  
"Ah, well..." He glanced at me for a moment. "It was around three weeks, give or take a couple of days."  
  
Rachel. "Oh, you poor thing. You were so brave, just stepping right in front of Nadia like that."  
  
That was it. Biting down on my lip to keep from screaming, I walked out of the living room and down the hall, not stopping until I reached my old bedroom. Shutting the door securely behind me, I sat down on my familiar bed, allowing my head to sink down into my hands. Those people were unbelievable!  
  
It wasn't their fault. It was only natural that they would be curious about what had happened, especially since I hadn't told them much. Lately just thinking about it made me feel even more guilty. Sometimes I wondered what would happen if Rhodes had the chance to do it all over again. Would he step in front of the gun a second time?  
  
With a groan, I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I was probably being childish, even questioning Rhodes' friendship. He was kind and loyal and considerate, and far too good for me.  
  
As if on cue, there was a gentle knock on the door. "Bridges?" came the soft voice. "Can I come in?"  
  
Geez Louise, this was the last thing I needed. Just seeing his face reminded me of his brush with death that had been my fault. But I couldn't avoid him forever, and I certainly didn't want him to think I was angry with him. "Yeah, it's a free country," I replied wearily.  
  
The door slowly opened, and I heard Rhodes enter, closing it behind him. I acknowledged his presence, but continued to stare blankly at the ceiling. "So this is your old room," he commented after a while. "A little sparsely decorated, but nice in its simplicity."  
  
"Thanks," I said in a monotone.  
  
He responded with silence, but after a short pause the bedsprings creaked, and I felt him sit down on the edge of the bed. Waving a hand in front of my face, he noted, "Something is wrong with my Scottish friend."  
  
I sighed. "Your Scottish friend is tired of hearing everyone talk about how you saved her life."  
  
He chuckled at this. "I must admit, it does get a little trying - especially after I specifically requested that you wouldn't make a big deal of it. You've been very faithful to that promise, by the way." He paused. "May I ask why it troubles you?" he said gently.  
  
"You may." I had to smile. Always so polite. I put my hands behind my head, still reluctant to look at him. "It's not that their talking about it annoys me," I said, then blinked. "Well, it's not what annoys me the *most*. It's just, whenever anyone brings it up, it just reminds me why you got yourself shot in the first place. You..." I faltered, to my embarrassment, and tried again. "You got hurt because of me."  
  
"What?" Something in his tone made me meet his face. He looked affronted. "Bridges," he breathed in disbelief. "You're not saying you hold yourself responsible?"  
  
I shrugged minutely. "Why shouldn't I?" I asked. "If I hadn't been there, Hu wouldn't have flipped his lid and pulled on the trigger. You saw how furious he was with me."  
  
There was a silence, during which all I could hear was Rhodes' soft breathing, and the whoosh of a car driving by out in the street. Finally he spoke quietly. "God, Bridges, if I had known you felt this way..." He heaved a sigh. "Nadia, Hu was my suspect. I would have had to confront him whether you were with me or not. It was just coincidence that he was your instructor."  
  
I snorted, interrupting him. "Freaking big coincidence."  
  
"Coincidence, and nothing more," he insisted. "And bringing it up may make you feel guilty, but it shouldn't. Do you want to know why?"  
  
*All right, I'll bite,* I thought. "Sure. Why?"  
  
Rhodes smiled - that charming smile - and said, "Because, my Scottish friend, it reminds *me* of why I did it."  
  
At that moment all my doubts dissolved. I had wanted proof and he had given it to me. Silly that what he thought mattered so much to me, but his words gave me more confirmation than anything else could. I opened my mouth to tell him as much, but before I could speak, he bent down and kissed my forehead lightly.  
  
I lay there, stunned and blushing like a madwoman, as he stood up. "The stuffed bird corpse with all its trimmings will be ready soon," he said airily, turning to open the door. "I daresay I have a lot to be thankful for this year than the cranberry sauce." With that he walked out of my room, whistling a familiar old ditty to himself. In the hallway his whistle turned into a hum, and then he began singing softly in an extremely convincing accent:  
  
"You'll take the high road and I'll take the low road  
  
And I'll be in Scotland before ye  
  
But me and my true love will never meet again  
  
On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond."  
  
I smiled, still fighting my blush. "You dork."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: *sits back and cracks knuckles* Wow, I'm actually done. How did you like it? I hoped it lived up to everyone's expectations. Please be brutally honest in your reviews. Oh! Before I go, I promised you all that I would go into a little more detail about the next story. First off, it's going to be another modern version of a Sherlock Holmes story. This time it's going to be a re-write of 'The Adventure of the Dying Detective'. You know what that means. Also, it's going to take place two years after this story; two years and one month to be precise. It's going to be narrated by Bridges again, and yes, there will be plenty of romantic tension. You can obviously see from this last chapter that she's starting to have feelings for our southern sleuth. Tell me what you think about it. Ciao for now!  
  
Wakizashi  
  
tricksparrow@hotmail.com 


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